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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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I NEED YOU EXCITED, I DON'T WANNA FIGHT IT | Y. OKKOTSU

✵ tags ; established relationship, friends to lovers, afab +fem!reader, forward!reader, back and forth power dynamics, dry-humping, hickies / marking, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, riding. fingering, dirty talk, 18+

✵ wc ; 7.3k (good lord)

✵ a/n ; written with my beloved @princess-okkotsu in mind!! i hope i did your boy justice </3 and thank u for everything literally wouldn't have passed chem w/o you

so not used to have such little warnings on a fic. lol. title is from fire and desire by drake.

✵ synopsis ; yuta wants to do right by you which is why he's so determined to take your relationship slowly. well, he tries too, anyway.

Yuta Okkotsu is a believer of doing things the right way.

He repeats this to himself like a mantra as he hangs out alone in your bedroom. He closes his eyes, elbows resting on the little table, face buried in his palms. Maybe it’s closer to a form of manifestation - like if he says it with enough hooplah it will mean something more than a jumble of words and syllables.

He must clarify that he is trying to do the right thing right now. He is trying so very hard to do the right thing because Yuta Okkotsu wants to remain righteous where possible.

It’s part of his job as a sorcerer, now well into his 20’s and more conscious of the world around him. He’s strong enough to put his money where his mouth is and experienced enough to know that trying to maintain some ethical code is part of staying alive in this business.

And it’s not that Yuta considers himself particularly upright. His friends and colleagues often tell him that he’s a bit unhinged and hard to get a read on. His morals might not always align with greater society, but he never does something that goes against his own beliefs. A lot of which can be summarized quite easily ; anything to defend his comrades.

It really is so important for Yuta to try and be civil in these aspects. Lest he fall into something truly dark. Even he knows what he’s capable of, at least a little.

That’s why he’s left with no choice than burying all of his thoughts of you and using every ounce of energy he has to suppress it as deep as it can go

You know, with all the love that’s influenced his life and all of the years he’s spent learning to be less timid - none of it seems to matter when it comes down to you and him. The logistics of a relationship and the idea of one are two very different things. When it comes to your relationship, he’s been keen in adhering to his strict timeline of milestones. First date, first hand-holding, first deep kiss. It’s a matter of honoring you - because before being boyfriend and girlfriend, you were Yuta’s comrade and companion. Before your relationship status, you're his cherished and valued person.

So because he’s chivalrous. Because he’s romantic. Because he cares about you.

And also because the sheer magnitude of his desires for you perpetually leaves him in a state of distress and disarray. It’s all of the above, all at the same time. And sometimes it leaves him a little overwhelmed.

He barely manages in his daily life but this? This is torturous.

Being in your bedroom unprompted is destroying every ounce of self-restraint he’s built through these last three months. He’s made it through your relentless bullying without giving into his Earthly desires.

It’s just too ideal in a way, being in here. Everything feels like you. There’s pictures of your friends and family around the room. Everything has your scent. Your clothes are littered on the floor and hung over the back of your desk-chair. It’s so you and Yuta loves you and he’s not going to survive being in here despite it all.

It’s embarrassing. Yuta is not the timid teenager he once was. But for all the ways he’s good at standing his ground, his demeanor is all but worthless when it comes down to you.

You’re a few years his senior and you’ve always been a slippery character. He’s enriched by your curiosity of the world. You’re a researcher and archivist of cursed information, coming out of the Kyoto branch. You have plenty of accolades and always manage to teach him something new and come out of difficult things on top.

Mostly, Yuta recognizes all of the good in your heart. He really thinks very highly of you.

There was an obvious passion for your work that Yuta was endeared by in the initial stages of your relationship. Plus you were easy to talk to. You’ve been a good friend to Yuta for years now, ever since you called on him to do some research on him and Rika. And, as the years passed you became closer until one night it hit him that his feelings of admiration were a little closer to something like love.

And with big, wet tears in his eyes (and a fair bit of liquor in his system) he blubbered about his feelings for you. He isn’t sure what reaction he was expecting at the time. You were happy which was great, but there was also something so lax about it all. Yuta remembers it so vividly. The way you waltzed up to him, tucked some hair behind his ears and kissed him gingerly with all the confidence in the world. Like it mattered but it didn’t. Like nothing could be more obvious than your feelings for each other.

“I’m pretty crazy about you too, Okkotsu-san.”

After asking if that meant you were dating like the bumbling, lovesick fool he is - you officially began going out as a couple. And at first, it was smooth sailing. It wasn’t too different from your usual hangouts.

Eventually though, you had pointed out that it doesn’t really feel like you were dating. Suggested that maybe sleeping together would help break the ice a little. That was what started this moral dilemma.

Being honest, it wasn’t like Yuta hadn’t considered it. What thoughts he cooked up while alone in the sanctity of his bedroom is between him and the heavens only. It was just the way you suggested it. You saying it made it all feel so real. And Yuta wasn’t sure how to deal with that. He wants to cherish you so much that he felt like he couldn’t consider your offer too lightly.

And he told you as much, hand in yours and red-faced to which you only blew some hair out of his eyes and laughed. A simple okay, a nod, and a kiss.

Of course, if everything had been smooth sailing this would be a different thing altogether. While Yuta had declined sleeping with you too soon, you had absolutely no plans to make his life easy. He’s not sure how much of it is on purpose. Knowing you, probably a lot. You’re a smart girl, after all.

So all of your bending over and tongue kissing before going home and selfies that just border on boudoir are probably very purposeful. But he’s endured it all. He should cherish you more. He’s been determined to not give in.

The fact he’s all but ready to blow his load over just being in your room makes him feel pathetic. And maybe he is, a little. But only for you.

Yuta likes to think of himself as a collected individual. Really. He knows being this worked up over something as innocuous as his girlfriends room is ridiculous. He knows he’s being ridiculous.

But he really, really wants to uphold his beliefs here. So he’s stiff, sitting with his hands clasped and holding it together just barely.

He practically jumps out of his skin when you return to your room with a tray of refreshments.

“Woah, Yuta. You okay?”

He turns around to look at you. A mistake, apparently. His eyes land on the sight of your bare legs before he forces himself to meet your eyes. You’re so pretty to him. Always so beautiful without any effort.

“Huh? Yeah. Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

You put the tray down on the table in front of him before sitting on the edge of your bed - facing him. The distance between you is minimal. You reach out to pet the top of his head with the palm of your hand, scratching his jaw tenderly. Yuta feels loved by the touch.

“You sure? Looks like you saw a ghost.”

Your genuine worry makes his spine feel like it’ll melt. He puts his hands over yours, rubbing his cheek against your palm.

“Promise I’m okay. Just—it's nothing serious.”

“Mm. Even if it’s nothing serious, I wanna know what stuff you’re worried about, ‘kay? So tell me if you want.”

He feels unsteady but so happy.

“Thank you, my love.”

“Yeah, of course. You wanna keep sitting on the floor or…?”

The minute you ask him, he feels the hair stand up on his neck.

“The bed…?”

You give him a look of confusion before you break out into a knowing grin.

“Oh, I forgot. I mean to remain chaste, my liege. Just wanna cuddle a bit.”

“Are you making fun of me?” He asks, not masking the pout in his voice.

You tilt your head to one side, leaning back on your palms.

“A little,” You say mischievously, shrugging “I’m used to your lifestyle of celibacy.”

He frowns at you. “It’s not like that, I just want to—“

“I just want to cherish you because I love you and want you for more than sex yadda yadda yadda. I know. And I respect your wishes even if I think it’s silly.” You say, taking the words right out of his mouth. His frown deepens.

“It’s not silly to me.” He says, almost petulantly. At this, you grab his face in your hands which catches him off-guard. You knock your forehead against his, bent over to do it.

“I know that too, you dummy. The point is that I’m not trying to get in your pants right now.”

He can’t help but smile, pulling away to kiss at your wrist. You giggle.

“Well, what do you want?”

“To be wrapped up in each other like otters.”

“So romantic.”

“Right? So get up here.”

He gives in sooner rather than later. You scoot till your back is along the wall next to your bed and Yuta wastes no more time in joining you. Your bed is crazy comfortable. Just laying it in makes him want to fall asleep almost immediately. He gets cozy before directing his gaze to you in front of him. He feels like he’s gonna throw up and the only thing that’ll come out is his heart. You give him a look of amusement.

“Enjoying the view?” You tease. He laughs, leaning forward to tuck his face into your neck.

“Yeah. Smells like you,”

“So cute.”

“Don’t know how to feel about being called cute.” He says honestly. He peers up at you and you’re giggling and he can feel his heart rate sky-rocket. You twirl a piece of his hair around your index finger.

“You’re cute and cool and handsome. Better?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“Mm,” You respond. He looks at you as your expression drifts off somewhere. He can’t take his eyes away from your face “Sorry you had to stay over.”

“It’s fine. It’d be a shame if you didn’t get anything to look over while we were there. If you make any breakthroughs, it’d be good for Gojo-sensei.”

“You still call him that even though you graduated so many years ago?”

He flushes slightly.

“Force of habit. My point stands.”

“Mhm. Thanks for being so supportive. I didn’t think it was that late, y’know? I would’ve tried to hurry if I knew,” You say thoughtfully “But I like having you over.”

He gives you a once over as he pulls away, eyes flitting to your lips. You give him a small grin.

“Kiss me.”

He looks at you apologetically.

“That’s not fair. We can’t kiss? Making out doesn’t count as intimate relations, Yuta.”

“Okay, but it can lead to them.”

“If it’s that serious, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Wait, no.”

“Then kiss me.”

He sighs.

“Just kissing, okay?”

“Okay, you monk.”

He laughs at the comment before pressing his lips to yours tenderly. You have no such intent of leaving it that way - your hand on immediately on the nape of his neck. The softness of your tongue makes Yuta feel like there’s fizz in his head - like the water inside of him is seltzer. He thought you would at least try to give him some mercy.

He probably shouldn’t expect that from his favorite girl. He pulls away, out of breath. A little line of saliva breaks off between you. Your grin is eye-catching, like glass in the sun. Yuta wouldn’t mind burning in the magnitude of your light.

“Just kissing,” He emphasizes, trying to be firm. You hum, hand on his cheek. You rub your thumb on his lip tenderly, looking at him square in the eyes. He’s stronger than this, he swears.

“We are just kissing though?”

“Baby.” He frowns. A laugh bubbles up from your stomach and he’s so entranced by it he nearly forgets what he’s trying to convince you of.

“Since when is making out too naughty? Teenagers do stuff like that, Yuta. We’re grown-ups.”

“That’s the whole problem.” He says back in faux exasperation. You look like you’re going to kiss him again, but you lean into his ear instead. Your breath is warm and ticklish against his skin.

“Yuta,” You murmur with such clear intent he feels himself break down under the weight “Can’t we have sex, hm?”

Blood rushes down to his dick so fast he’s embarrassed. He stares at you as you pull away, a look in your eyes that makes him want to collapse. Of course he does. He wants to have so much sex with you so often it’s starting to drive him up a wall. Is there anyone in the world other than him masochistic enough to turn down the offer? He’s doubtful to say the least.

“I want to,” He admits. You beam and nod. Your hand slides down to squeeze his waist. He swallows thickly.

“Yeah? Then why can’t we?”

“I just..don’t want to rush things,” He replies with as much conviction as he possibly can. The sincerity must reach you because you soften a little “We’ve known each other for a long time. And it was already hard to get here. I just want to make sure it’s right.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” You murmur to him, running over his hip bone with your thumb “And that makes you really sexy, you know?”

“What if it gets all messed up?”

“Our relationship is stronger than that, yeah. It can withstand a handjob.”

He groans at your vulgarity before laughing.

“I’m being serious!”

“I know and that’s so sweet of you. But I really, really don’t think it’ll be that bad if we have sex. We might fuck like rabbits for a few days but that’s not really the end of the world.”

He feels heat creep up his next as you nuzzle your nose against his, whispering softly.

“And doesn’t that sound nice? Cooped up in this little room, fucking each others brains out. Just you and me.”

He feels his dick steel against his will. He looks at you seriously, a fire in his expression.

“You’re being unfair.”

“Who, me? Never. I’m just telling you what I think.”

He groans in complaint. Is this the right thing to do? He doesn’t think so. But it’s not like he doesn’t want to. He really, really wants to have sex and there’s never been such a perfect opportunity. You’re a little too good at turning him on and he’s a little too pent up to think about it more clearly. It feels like the only thing he can think about, a side-effect of this whole conundrum. There is a right way to go about this and he can’t say for certain yours isn’t the one.

Plus the vivid picture you’ve painted of the two of you fucking in a room for hours is making his whole body burn up with lust. Fuck, the things he could do to you in all that time without it ever being enough.

Yuta didn’t know he was aching for you so badly until he was this close to having you.

“Baby,” He can feel how deep his voice is getting. It’s taking all of his strength to keep it in.

“How do you want me? Tell me. You’ve been thinking about me right?”

“Always,” He confesses, staring at you without any restraint “Always thinking of you.”

“Doing what?”

Oh. This is…

Oh.

“I’ve never seen you naked.”

“Then you daydream about seeing me naked? How tame.”

“It’s more than that, it’s—I want to make you feel good. You’re so good to me. And I wanna…”

You stare at him. You’re so cheeky.

“You wanna?”

“Want you to feel good. But because of me. All because of me.”

A wave of heat passes through him. He looks at you and you look...different. You look turned on, fingers carding through his hair. Right now all Yuta can think about is how much he wants. A word with so much weight behind it he can hardly keep up. God doesn’t Yuta want you more than he’s ever wanted anything.

The room feels like it’s hotter than it was a few seconds last. A thick tension spreads over everything like jam. Yuta is too dazed to do anything. He can only watch as you sit up. You guide him to lay on his back and climb on top of him with ease. Your thighs feel warm and soft as you straddled him, taking his hands to put them on your waist.

He slides them up underneath your shirt lightly, enough to feel the warmth of your skin on his calloused fingers. Your eyes lock as you lean forward the slightest bit, caging Yuta in with your hand next to his head.

“So possessive,” You tease, seeing right through him like you usually do. He really is. He thought he was a little better at hiding it “Already all yours, Yuta.”

That makes his dick twitch. You must feel it because you laugh at him about it and his hands grip even tighter. He’s gonna lose his mind, being swept up by you so easily. He’s gotten so used to forfeiting restraint. Always goes in head first because that’s how cowards have to learn to fight. But he’s forgotten how to hold back. How to suppress.

Right now, he feels like an animal. He feels like a restless hound dog, straining against the spiked collar he’s tried to keep himself in place. What does that make you, he wonders?

In an attempt at transparency, he looks at you and says “I want you so much.”

And your reply is about all the permission he needs.

“Then take me,”

Yuta heeds your words and takes. It’s easy to flip you both over from where you are. He mumbles an apology as you yelp in surprise - and he hopes you’ll forgive him for his impatience. He’s been picturing this for months now. He knows what he wants, and that’s you on your back with him on top of you - making you feel so fucking good you can’t stand it. He slots his legs between yours, hovering over you as your bodies press into each other.

You wrap your arms around Yutas neck with ease and he leans in to kiss you passionately. Despite where you are, it’s clear you're helping set the pace. Yuta is eager to follow. It starts off slow enough but when you pull away once, you're opening your mouth enough to let him in deeper. You stick your tongue out and Yuta follows suit. Everything is so hot he feels like it’ll burn, and you taste like mint toothpaste. He likes swapping spit with you like this, the messy way the drool runs down his chin and yours like you can’t get enough for each other.

He has no idea how long you stay like that. Just kissing is a dangerous game. The nip of your mouth and the press of your incisors in his lower lip leave him shuddering. His hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and he can’t help himself but hump into the soft plush of your tummy. Even through the stiff material of his jeans he can feel you.

He quivers and whimpers into your mouth but you swallow the noise with delight. Your fingers find themself at the nape of his hand reaching up, tugging at the root. You pull away to give him a chance to breathe. He sounds pathetic, he knows it, but fuck he can’t hold it in anymore. Your voice is cool and collected yet rich and heady. It feels like a salve to his raw nerves, calming to him. He closes his eyes and humps into you and everything feels like it’ll disappear. Yuta just wants to give into his base needs. He wants to be all yours as much as he wants you to be all his and everything is so tangled up in his mind.

“That feel good, Yuta?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. Oh, yes.”

You giggle at him a little and Yuta looks up at you. Look at the swell of your lips and the flush and sheen on your skin. Too much, too much, too much.

But not enough at the same time, he rubs his cock against you again, harder.

“So pent up,” You comment smoothly and Yuta groans in agreement “Why don’t I help you a little?”

Unsure of what you mean, he stares at you hazily. You push him off, making him stand to his knees and he watches you as your hands come to the ends of your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it somewhere. You have nothing on underneath. His mouth dries out almost completely. Bare skin of your shoulders and the curve of your neck and your chest so open. Your nipples are hard against the cool air, standing to attention.

Your b0dy is so much sexier than he could’ve conjured up in his head. The real thing doesn’t even compare, and the way you move as you take off the rest is so fucking mesmerizing. Yuta watches you take off your pants next - you put your legs up to slide them off.

There’s not a single part of you that Yuta doesn’t want to claim for himself. He traces the outline of your legs, the bend of your knee and the arch of your foot. He should worship you, after all - he was right for trying to restrain it before. If he had this in the beginning, he’s afraid of what kind of person he might become. He’s scared of it even now.

Yuta is of course the type of man to get sick on his own devotion. He’s always been like that. That’s what the rings on his hands always mean. He wants to make himself sick on you.

Nothing could be more intense than just watching you undress, he doesn't think. You toss your shorts somewhere, but leave your panties on. Yuta still has his clothes on. The only barrier between you now is a thin layer of cotton. There’s a damp spot on it. He can’t stop his hand from reaching out, pressing into it with his thumb as gently as he can. You gasp. His eyes go wide.

“It’s okay,” You assure, a smile on your face “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

He hums, dumbstruck, and smooths his thumb over the seam. There’s something salacious about the boundary itself. The material that’s keeping him from just taking you.

“C-can you leave them on..? For a bit?” He asks. You blink twice. Even if you’re confused, there’s not any judgment. Yuta really does love you.

“Uh-huh. If you want me too,”

You give him the floor this time, Yuta thinks. He takes his shirt off too. He doesn’t take his jeans off completely, though. Only unzips them, pushing them down past his boxers to give him some breathing room. And with that he’s back on top of you. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips but moves down towards your jaw. The little fluttery sigh that leaves you makes everything close in around him. Like it’s only you two in the entire world. He leaves them down your neck, down your collarbone and sternum. Warm open mouth kisses trying all over every inch of you.

His hands shake as he reaches out for your chest. You chuckle and reach for him. Guide them to squeeze your tits firm, a cheeky look in your eye. He tries to take more confidence in it now. Gropes the fat between his fingers, palms over your nipples in appreciation. He’s entranced by it, pushing them together and teasing the hardened buds with the pads of his fingers.

“So pretty,” He mumbles, mostly to himself “You’re so pretty,”

“You’re pretty too, Yuta.”

He can feel a blush crawl up his skin. He ducks his head down to take your nipples into his mouth. You let out a soft moan of pleasure that encourages him to suck harder on one and use his fingers to tease you where his mouth can’t reach. Your sighs are shaky and you're gently losing your composure.

He wants to shatter you completely.

He grabs your thighs and encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. And you do with his guidance, a well of desire about to burst within him. He adjusts until his cock is snug against your clothed cunt. A broken oh, leaves your lips and Yuta humps into you, shifting until he hits the sweet spot. Your voice sounds again, pitchy and melodic like a wind chime and that’s when Yuta knows he has it.

He has you right where he wants you now. Bodies pressed into each other and so involved, so together. Yuta can feel you everywhere. He’s always been in sync with you but every notch is turned to ten. The shallow rise and fall of your stomach, the slightest tenseness in your spine that melt away when he gives you a little attention. He has you in his grasp but he wants to hold onto you tighter. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning, the way his nerves are revved up.

He focuses on where your lower bodies meet, tongue poked between his lips and furrow in his brow. Drives his clothed, hard cock against your cunt, catching the crown into your clit until you’re shaking underneath him. There’s something so primal about it that Yuta can’t take it. He can’t think clearly anymore, lost in the feeling of dull pleasure. If it feels so good like this, being inside you might be too much. You’re both naked mostly except for where you both need each other. So close in proximity that Yuta can hear each of your short pants. Erratic and almost thoughtlessly driven by one single thing, pleasing you. Feeling each other, all wrapped up together. There’s something romantic about the mutual desperation.

Drawing out those moans as he sucks at your tits, making you feel how hard he is. How pent up and needy and fucking horny he is all for you.

Just humping your soft, sweet little cunt through your panties makes Yuta want to risk everything he’s got. The push and pull of too much and not enough at the same time. It’s so fucking euphoric. Your fabric keeps wetter and wetter, and Yuta doesn’t know if it’s you or him - his pre-cum dribbling through his boxers. Mixing together so that there’s less friction than there should be, material all soaked through and tacky.

He can feel your pussy pulse and tremble. Your spine goes stiff and Yuta pulls away to look at you. You’re beautiful. You’re on edge, in complete bliss and so fucking beautiful.

“Oh, oh, Yuta - shit, like that. G-gonna, gonna,”

He doesn’t know what overtakes him, but he babbles on pulling away.

“Cum for me, please—fuck, baby, p-please, need it,”

You cum the first time just like that. For Yuta, humping each other like two lovesick teenagers. All for him you get all broken. He can’t help but burn the image of you underneath in his head forever. He needs to see it all again.

“Oh, that felt so fucking good,” The praise feels like it’s being injected into his bloodstream“You make me feel sho good,”

The slight slur in your words and praise all together makes him too happy. He kisses you, sloppy and lovedrunk, tongues touching and teeth chattering.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” Yuta says with as much conviction as any one man could have. You laugh so loud it makes him smile. “I don’t wish well for anyone you dated before me.” And you laugh again even louder.

“You sound polite even when you’re threatening people.” You say with nothing but affection. Yuta wants more. He wants you. Even with this quiet lull, he’s thinking about how he can get you to cum again.

He nudges his nose to your cheek, kissing the corner of your mouth before he talks.

“I want you to do it again,” He states, slow and steady, trying to feel out your willingness “And then I want to fuck you,”

“Wanna fuck me after you make me a mess?” You say, much more bluntly than he has. You’re not wrong “Are you a sadist after all, Yuta?”

“You look good when you’re messy. ‘s not my fault.” He replies, a little bite to his words. This delights you to the point he's proud. He does his best not to look uncool and this one time he’s succeeded.

“Make a mess of me, Yuta,” You encourage, probably because you know he needs it. And he does “I want it.”

“Yeah,” Comes his reply, as he pulls himself off of you “Me too,”

The pace slows down now. The room smells of sex and Yuta can still feel the blood rushing in his ears but nothing so frantic. He lays you back, your legs undoing from behind him and resting. Yuta kisses your sternum first, a wave of emotion running through him. He puts his hands on your sides, sliding them down to meet your hips and squeezing tight.

He kisses his down your body like it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He can feel you curl in above him - not completely. But you seem a little astonished, and he'd be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel like he accomplished something. He works his way lower slowly, rubbing small circles into your skin as often as he can. Caressing you and committing your body to memory. He wants you to feel him as much as he’s feeling you, to feel his touch. The tension in the air is strengthened by his silence.

If he were saying anything it’d be something like this. Like can you feel it? how much i love you? or i want all of you. Things he can’t often muster up the strength to say. He’s good with his words but not good enough to communicate all of it so bluntly. Yuta is brave in areas other than love. Sometimes your adoration makes all the words clog in his throat. This is better for him, the physicality brings him peace of mind.

He likes how you feel. Your skin is much softer when he compares it to his, feels so different and more plush and comfortable. Yuta likes taking you in his hands and kneading the skin gently enough to relax you. Lower and lower, a trail of wet marks until he’s close to your clothed cunt. He stares at the sticky material, kissing it feather light before redirecting his attention to your thighs.

He starts again, at the bend of your knee - and works his way inward. He’s rougher now, taking time to mark up your inner thigh with precision. Yuta can’t help himself, placing kisses in the last places his teeth bit you. He does it again and again, up along one thigh and then moving to the other until you’re covered in them.

You’re trembling with anticipation. A sense of contentment washes over Yuta as his breath fans over your cunt, so completely soaked the fabrics a different color. His tongue runs over the material, a shameless moan of pleasure leaving his mouth. You arch your back, hands reaching to take root in his hair. The sensation of tension on his scalp makes his cock twitch. It’s salty and a little bitter, the mix of his pre-cum and yours altogether. Yuta goes to do it again anyway. The mess of it gets him excited, unconsciously rubbing into the sheets underneath him.

“O-oh, Yuta.”

He shivers, hands planing over the tops of your thighs as he brings him down close to him.

“Yeah, yeah baby. Just me and you,”

A soft laugh leaves your mouth. Yuta can feel how worked up you are. You’re quiet and tense. Some part of him wants to leave you like that waiting, but the other part of him wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for. He gives into the latter, because that’s what he wants more. Rolls the fabric off of your legs with a deep sigh, a pleased hum. He loves the way you smell, the scent of sex and arousal mixed with the fancy soaps you keep in your bathroom. Your pussy is as pretty as you are, a sheen of arousal all along your slit. Your clit peeks through, swelled from need. Yuta kisses it without thinking.

He starts slow. Lays his tongue flat against the seam of your cunt before dragging it up. The taste of you covers his mouth, tangy and slightly sweet - Yuta can’t get enough of you. He moans in appreciation, repeating the gesture as he pulls your pussy close. His nose bumps into your sex. He peers up at you with his lashes. You’re so pretty it makes him want to please. He repeats this over and over - licking at your clit with enthusiasm. Your clit is hard and needy, throbbing against the soft, smooth muscle of his tongue as he gains a sort of rhythm. He gauges your reaction when he tries something new, adding pressure until you’re squirming underneath him. When you start growing noisier, Yuta knows he’s hit the right pace.

And he stays like that, your pussy soaking his mouth and chin. He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing his fingers between your folds. You let out a soft oh above him, making him want to laugh. He keeps at it, his fingers sliding far enough to tease your entrance. Your hole is twitching without him having done much at all, his middle finger teasing and prodding.

“Don’t t-tease so much,” You pant.

Yuta nearly blows his load listening to you talk like that. He didn’t think you could be so cute. He listens though, pushing his middle finger into you with ease. It doesn’t take too much effort. Your insides are so incredibly wet for him. Your walls are so soft and inviting, syrupy to the touch. Yuta loves feeling them. He gives you time to adjust to the new sensation, fucking in and out slow enough that the tension melts. He gets knuckle deep with his middle finger and when it doesn’t seem like you’re tense anymore - he goes and adds another.

He does both in tandem - and there’s a period where it’s all a bunch of sensation for you. Eventually it stops being just a feeling, turns into pleasure. He curls his fingers up against you hard, rubbing the soft and spongy area and he can feel you practically lurch forward. Your spine arches, mouth dropped open in a soft ‘o’. Another feeling of pride spreads through his chest, his whole body. He wants you to let go again just like this. While he fingers your weepy cunt and with your clit in his mouth - he wants to see how far he can push. How wet you can get before he ever gets inside.

Yuta isn’t one for competition or ego. He’s always been easy-going. But something about you being underneath him like this, moaning for him like this - makes him feel like he should put in a little more effort to prove himself. He wants to make you feel so good, wants to see your composure break down steadily. He wants you praise him for it, to fuck each other like animals in the thereafter of your second orgasm. He pushes towards that goal steadfastly, and soon enough your body catches up with him.

Yuta can practically feel your stomach tighten. You let out a noise, a string of mismatched syllables like a warning. Yuta only hums in encouragement, keeping his pace exactly the same. Feeling it is incredible. His fingers can feel the way your walls tighten up so hard and the tremors of the aftermath.

Your back curves in a C as you cum, hard for him and he can feel it. He can feel you cum. He can see you, see the pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave. A second. Yuta made you cum twice in a row and he’s already itching to do it a third.

You practically pry him off as you ride the wave of your high. You sigh deeply, and Yuta licks his fingers. He waits for your adoration, pleased to receive as you pull him up for a kiss.

“You’re so fucking good, Yuta,” You say and Yuta feels his resolve crumble. He needs to fuck you immediately “So, so good to me baby.”

He whimpers into your mouth. “I need you.”

You laugh breathlessly, your hand reaching between your bodies to squeeze his cock. Yuta shudders and you giggle to yourself.

“Yeah. Bet you’re feeling pent up, Yuta. How about I treat you this time? That okay?”

“Treat me?”

“By riding you,” You say, smiling at him. He gets chills from the offer “You want that?”

“Oh. Oh, fuck - please. Please?”

You smile at him.

“Lay on your back, sweet boy.”

Sweet boy. He swallows thickly but does as you say. Lays back and watches you climb over him a second time tonight - this time with a much more obvious intent. He can’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he finds you - no matter how many times he sees you, it’s not easy to get used to.

You sit up on his lap, naked and beautiful, your hangs tugging down his boxers just enough to free his cock. He hisses at the sensation of air, then moans because your hand squeezed around the shaft. Yuta watches, bewitched, by how you spit into the palm of your hands and let it drip down onto his cock. You stroke until he’s covered in it, saliva making a mess of him. When he’s all wet, you scoot forward just slightly. A hand ends up on his chest as you pull your hips up.

Guiding the tip to your hole, you sink down on Yuta finally. He can only recognize loosely that there’s no condoms to be seen but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. There’s a slight sensation of tension that quickly gives away to nothing but slick, white-hot pleasure. You feel amazing. It’s not like anything he’s ever felt in his entire life and each time you drop down another inch - he’s biting his cheek trying not to cum immediately. That’d be such a waste, even if you’ve promised to fuck like rabbits - Yuta wants to make this last long.

You lower yourself steadily until all of him is inside. Your expression is slightly pinched, and your whole body trembles before you finally seem comfortable. You lean forward, your hand next to Yuta’s head as you look at him.

“Cum when you feel like you need to, ‘kay?”

Yuta just swallows.

Before he gets a chance to adjust to the feeling, you pick your hips and slam them back down on his cock without breaking a sweat. Yuta nearly screams, his hands immediately shooting to your hips to try and slow you down. You give him a wry grin, He almost wants to plead for your mercy.

“Want me to go slower?”

“Please be nice.”

You giggle but heed his request. Repeating the motion but slower as promised, you rock yourself steadily onto Yuta’s cock. The pace is controlled and smooth, a rhythmic pass of your hips over and over. Your insides feel like they’ll melt him completely, make him liquid from the inside out. You’re picturesque riding him, tits bouncing and leaned forward enough that Yuta can see the concentration on your face. He watches you find your own pleasure in it too - somewhere half-way between grinding and bouncing that makes you look so good. He feels so incredible like this.

He moves his hands so they’re grabbing your ass and only moves with you slightly. Not enough to change the pace, but to meet you. The room is filled with the sound of skin hitting skin - a tacky smack as your bounces hard enough to hit Yutas thighs. Something about is so vulgar, but something about is so sensual. He can feel every nerve in his body standing on edge. Your hand moves gently between your bodies to tease your clit as you ride and Yuta can’t help but be impressed by your stamina. He feels so spoiled. Feels so mind-numbingly good he wants to go brain dead while you drain for everything he’s got.

Your expression is blissed out as you hit your stride, absolutely debauched. He can feel you again, another rush of arousal. He’s getting better at telling when you’re close. Your pussy is so sloppy all for him, because of him. So messy that it’s dripping down his cock onto his balls, all over the sheets underneath you. He can feel you clench in anticipation - the sudden spasming in the build up.

“Gonna cum again and I want you cum right after me, yeah baby? Can you do that?”

Yuta groans.

“Pleasepleaseplease.” Is all he can make out. You laugh, breathy. Your pace is still the same as you rub your clit. The third time you cum is less intense. It’s a shorter wave, a softer sort of orgasm that seems to ease you more than it does anything else. Even still, you clench around his cock hard - getting so much wetter than you were a minute ago.

It’s in the tremors that Yuta finally feels in touch with himself again. He loses himself completely. Finally giving into the sensation that’s been drowning him, He feels it in his entire lower body. Every atom of him finally catching up to the high of the release. It’s so intense when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. His eyes shoot open then go back closed. The coil in his stomach loosens more slowly at first than all at once, like a car crash. When Yuta finally cums he sees nothing but white stars in his vision. He can’t scream, can’t speak - so he holds onto you tight and finishes to the sound of your gentle coaxing. Your voice is shot hoarse as you coo to him.

“That’s it baby, cum for me. That’s it, there you go.” Echoes around in his head. Cum spurts out of him, thick and hot in your walls and he doesn’t even try to pull out as he goes completely limp underneath you.

When he opens his eyes back up again, you're both just as ragged as each other. Yuta can’t stop himself from laughing. He hugs you tight to his chest as you lay on top of him - naked bodies and tangled limbs.

“I love you,” Yuta says blearily. You laugh.

“I love you too, Yuta.”

After you and Yuta manage the energy to shower, you find yourselves back in bed. It’s late when you’re finally ready to sleep, being in the same positions you were before. Only this time with new sheets.

Yuta lets you into his arms, wrapping them around you as you nuzzle into his chest.

“So. Was it worth breaking your rules?”

Yuta can’t help but break out into laughter at your question. He nods his head, a flush on his expression.

“Yeah. Yeah it was.”

#yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuta okkotsu smut #writing tag #i was NOT going to post this until i woke up later #but due to unforseen and horrendous circumstances i am alive #i wrote this for miss aleks i am literally so grateful for u kdsjknkjsd thank u sm #i hope it is okay!! its been a while since ive written him

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portgasmalia · 7 months

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❝𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘❞ ﹙ pairings: law, kid & f!reader ﹚ ﹙ theme: jealousy, smut ﹚ ﹙ info: my current thoughts focus too much on kid & law, can‘t keep the thoughts straight ﹚

❝ 𝐄𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐒 '𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍' 𝐊𝐈𝐃. ❞

﹙ possessiveness, p in v, rough sex, name calling, hair pulling, jealousy like hardcore jealousy ﹚

how kid hated the way you laughed, the way your lips curled towards the corners of your eyes so effortlessly. oh, how much those thoughts turned out to be a lie. the only part of the melodic sound coming from you, kid despised, was who was the reason behind the burst of amusement. sabaody was meant to be the last island before entering the second part of the grand line, the new world. it did not mean to be confronted with the dumbness of another captain. a boy, so young, so naive, and often speaking confusing sentences which tickled a laugh out of most persons. kid did not count as one of them.

his jealousy became the reason of his cruel behavior, skin slapping on skin echoing across the deck of the victoria punk. underarms placed parrallel on the railing, the forehead laid on your wrists. “fucking mine,” the captain behind you groaned, pounding into you harsher. a successful attempt of hiding your face from the passing townsfolk, or any other pirate which already saw your gentle features in daylight and could recognize it in darkness occurred while letting the filthy sounds of pleasure spill from your mouth. but kid wasn't having the disobedience of your actions. his large paw found the back of your head, the calloused fingers grabbing the messed up strands and pulling back. forceful but not painful. “do not dare to hide what i’m doing to you,” kid grunted, punctuating his words with a rather rough thrust. “let those fucking assholes see who’s little slut you are.”

while his words sounded harsh to an outstanding person, kid knew how much you loved his nasty dirty talk. the scenario from the harbor must look discomforting. cherry red dusted over the span of your cheeks, the mouth wide open, needy whines and filthy moans leaving the swollen lips as your body was pressed harshly against the railing. marks on your shoulders and around your waist would stay as a reminder. behind you, the towering shadow of a man. broad shoulders, calloused fingertips pressing deeply into the soft flesh of your hips and the wide, mischievous smirk on kid’s lips accentuated by the bright red of his lipstick. “i hope,” he grunted, the raspy tone coming from deep in his chest. “that elastic boy luffy walks past, and sees me fucking you.“

oh, kid was jealous of goofball luffy. a surprise as you mildly suspected law or zoro.

❝ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝐋𝐀𝐖 . ❞

﹙orgasm denial, possessiveness, p in v, choking﹚

throughout the journey across the first half of the grand line, the islands of paradise, the captain of the heart pirates never felt an intense pinch of jealousy. law always knew you started the journey with him, and you would either finish it with him or die by his side. a promise of love. but reaching sabaody archipelago, the last one before the red line, offered other difficulties. after month of seeing other crews failing, law met people as dangerous as him. the worst generation, the eleven supernovas from nine different crews.

while you loved how much you were able to change the cold-hearted demeanor as soon as entering the private rooms of the polar tang, it always caused a glint of pride when law‘s emotionless facade faltered. and it did in front of the auction house. eyebrows furrowed into a deep thrown, thin lips pressed together tightly and his jaw clenched at the sight. your delicate hands, the slender fingers wrapped ever so lightly around the hilt of that mosshead‘s sword. zoro, the vice captain of the straw hat crew. a dumb fool, but his strength was immense. he stood behind you, a hand placed above yours and his rough fingertips graced your soft skin as zoro showed you how to slash and inflict a wound with the sharp blade. inhaling a deep breath, law forced himself to swallow the thoughts of destruction until you reached the polar tang again.

oh, how the anger boiled in law‘s stomach. you never asked him, never questioned the way he carried his sword, never wanted to learn from him. a burning jealousy in his blood, he already planned the downfall of your night. and accepting the offer from the vice captain was the reason for your current position. sprawled out on the captain‘s bed, ass in the air and the legs already shaking from the intensity of law‘s actions. consequences, that was what he called the harsh slaps of his swords sheath against the soft flesh of your cheeks. each time the material connected with your strawberry-freckled ass became a reminder of your wrong‘s. „you‘re mine. fucking mine alone.“ law‘s words were a raspy mess, growls erupting from deeply within his tattooed chest. „can’t wait to fuck you dumb again. you won’t remember that mosshead.“

the sound of him opening his belt rang in your ears, knowing that your punishment reached its peak soon. and yet, you did not regret luring out the possessiveness of law. at least not at this moment until the soreness conquered your exhausted body and closing your legs was not an option.

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domreaderheadcannonscenarios · 4 months

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(Due to tumblr marking my blog as explicit I have posted this from my original blog as it’s a request from there but I’ll be posting it here to so it actually shows on tumblr!)

I love the idea of overstimming him! Making the ‘feared angel’ whimper and cry while you tease his shaft into yet another release

Oh but praising him after each load, thanking him for giving into his urges and cuming for you🤍

Gabriel (overstim, small dick,)

“My Lord? D-didn’t I say? T-this is too much o-on me.” Gabriel complained, hips twitching forwards as you try to regain your grip on his shaft. With how much he’s leaking, it’s hard to keep the little thing in your hand! It kept slipping out and when you tightenen your grip-

“A-ah!” A surprised yelp escapes him upon the tightness engulfing his shaft. “I-it’s so-“ He hissed in what you couldn’t tell was pain or pleasure. He tries to protest as you force him to release in your hand again.

“Thank you,” You praise, earning a confused whimper. You were pleasuring him, why were you thanking him? Gabriel tried to protest but it died in his throat upon you taking as much of his cum as you could and brought it up to his face. “See this? With this I can live in your world longer, will you give me more?”

Gabriel nodded quickly. “Anything f-for you, I’ll give you everything-“ He keeps pathetically as you use his cum to lube his shaft and continued stroking him. He squeaked and kept squirming, you know his sensitivity must be heavy by now but you don’t stop. He bucks into your hand, trying to help but struggling. “I-I want to-give you more! I dare say it’s s-starting to hurt!” He whimpered out.

You slip in front of him, him, dropping to be face to face with his groin. He jumps when you exhale onto his aching manhood. You take his cocklet into your mouth fast, he’s trembling upon the very first suck and he’s gasping.

“W-wwaait! You-my Lord! You cant put something so f-filthy in your mouth please!” He whined out as his thighs try to snap shut around your head. “I beg of you, it’s so hot down there…I-it burns mercy! Mercy!” You realize it means he’s close to getting off again.

You hold his legs apart as you harshly suck on the trembling organ like a pop before he wails out desperate praise and finishes once more. You’re surprised by how much his cocklet gives you this time, filling your mouth with his seed as you swallow it down quickly.

He trembles, you imagine that was a lot for his first blowjob, but he doesn’t voice any complaint as you sit up, then yank him to the edge of your bed so his hips are flush against yours. “I’ll help you get cleaned up.” You leave him with his legs spread, still catching his breath as you get a wet (but warm) towel to clean up his mess.

Upon your return, Gabriel almost looks like he passed out, but upon the cloth grazing his exhausted shaft he jumped a bit and his eyes opened again. “N-no it’s…it needs more rest…” He whined out half asleep. With a glance down he realizes it’s a towel. “Ah…thank you, just…gentle? S-sorry, it wasn’t as much as you wanted, I-I’m not that good with stamina…”

You cooed and leaned over to kiss him, hand cleaning his shafts abruptly turning to rubbing the limp organ. He mewled in response.

#whb #what in hell is bad #nsft #Gabriel #gabriel x reader #sub Gabriel #dom reader #overstim kink

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pedrithink · 1 year

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prenuptial (2) ✩ kylian mbappé

summary: you and kylian are getting married and the subject of the prenuptial agreement comes into play, but kylian is not so sure about this.

[part 1]

"Your mother has scheduled it for 9:30 tomorrow morning, okay?" You run your hand in a light caress over Kylian's head.

Confusion takes over Kylian's expression. "Hm? What?"

"Stop tripping and pay attention to the things I tell you." You let out a playful chuckle as you pout. "The prenup. We're signing it tomorrow."

Kylian bites his lower lip lightly and tries not to let it show, but he has so much to tell you right now. He doesn't quite know what to do and feels he needs to get it out of his head.

A warning immediately pops into his head to try to get this worry out of his mind and he mentally marks of thinking more about it and having an exact way to talk to you about everything that has been haunting his mind.

"Yeah, sure." Kylian's half-forced smile leaves you confused and you move closer to leave a light caress on his face.

"What? You've been scattered since we talked about this." Your frown frowns, you really can't understand what is going on in Kylian's head. "If it's about me being upset, relax, Kylian. I told you, it's more than fine with me."

Kylian lets out a frustrated sigh. "No, love. It's not that, it's just..." He runs his hand across his face. It's crazy how the frustration of not knowing what to say to you hits him like an avalanche. "I don't know."

"Don't dwell on it too much." You hold his hands to try to pass on a little more confidence about the situation. "It's going to be okay, it's material things and that's not important to me."

You know it's not easy for Kylian, you understand how he must be feeling and you don't blame him for having this relapse of "fear." But, nothing will be able to bring that feeling of upset upon you because of this arrangement.

For Kylian, there already comes the issue that you have shared years of your life with him and he has shared years of his life with you. You were and are present in his life every day, giving your immeasurable support and your constant consolation, always finding ways to make him feel better when he loses a game or always celebrating when he brings a world cup to his country.

It's just a form of gratitude. You deserve it too, you deserve the money that comes along with it.

"It's all right, love. Just a worry I need to put out of my mind." Kylian smiles weakly as he pulls you into a hug. "I love you. Immeasurably."

The whisper of an "I love you" that comes out of his lips makes Kylian's heart expand with so much love and you can only concentrate on hugging him tighter and tighter.

You spend the entire morning together, doing your daily chores and some leisure activities all together to try to make up for the homesickness that hits you when you go through a busy work week.

At night, Kylian takes advantage of your tiredness and takes care to go to another room when he sees that you have fallen asleep. He really feels lost and doesn't quite know how to rearrange his thoughts, so it's inevitable when he hits the button to call his mother.

"Kylian?" Fayza's voice is heard along with the sound of some voices in the background of the call. "Y a-t-il un problème?” (Is there a problem?)

Kylian frowns. "Bonjour, maman. Tu es occupée?” (Hi, mom. Are you busy?)

"Non, ce sont juste des amis d'Ethan qui sont venus aujourd'hui. (No, it's just some of Ethan's friends who came over today.)” She lets out a giggle and Kylian hears a few footsteps until they stop. “Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Tu n'es pas du genre à appeler beaucoup à cette heure-ci. Il s'est passé quelque chose?” (What's up? You're not one to call much at this hour. Did something happen?)

Kylian's thumb rests on his lips and he tries to resist the urge to bite his fingernail from so much anxiety. There are so many thoughts and feelings that he can't control himself.

"Que faites-vous quand vous avez l'impression qu'une chose est juste, mais que trop de gens vous en font douter?” (What do you do when you feel like one thing is right, but too many people make you doubt it?) He fires off the question, without even giving him a chance to assimilate.

"Hm...right." Fayza gasps, and the confusion is palpable in her voice. "Je te dirais de suivre ton cœur et ton intuition, je sais que ça fait cliché, mais ils savent déjà ce que tu veux vraiment. Tout le reste est secondaire.” (I would tell you to follow what your heart and intuition say, I know that sounds cliché, but they already know what you really want. Everything else is secondary.)

Kylian shakes his head positively and for a moment forgets that his mother cannot see him. "Mais pourquoi? Tu ne vas pas me dire ce qui te passe par la tête?” (But why? Aren't you going to tell me what's going through your mind?)

"Tu le sauras demain, maman. Merci pour le conseil.” (You'll find out tomorrow, Mom. Thanks for the advice.)

Kylian says goodbye to Fayza briefly, and in his heart it is clearly imprinted that he is going to follow the script the way he always wanted.

Soon, he goes to bed and when morning comes, he is awakened by her sudden movement around the room. When you see Kylian with his eyes ajar, you smile and approach the bed to caress his face lightly.

"Hey, love. Get up, it’s almost 9:00." Kylian purrs at the cuddling you do and tries not to fall asleep again, but suddenly he sits up in bed and leaves a light kiss on your lips, then gets up to get ready.

He wants to end this situation as soon as possible and let peace reign in his mind.

One minute he is getting ready and the next you are in front of the place to sign the whole agreement.

Kylian can't hide his anxiety and you can only get more and more confused, not knowing what to do to get any insecurity out of his head.

With his leg shaking and the pen in his hands, Kylian can't hold it in. "I don't want to do that."

You and Fayza stare at each other in confusion as Kylian drops the pen on top of the paper. "I don't want to sign that paper."

Fayza directs her gaze at him and as a mother, attends to the way he seems totally sincere about it. "What do you mean by that, Kylian?"

"Kylian stop fooling around, just sign it." You let out a nervous laugh and poke at his leg with your foot. The fear of Fayza thinking you influenced this scares you a little.

"No, I don't want to. You fought for that money too and when we get married I want you to have the peace of mind that my money is yours too." Kylian takes a stand and lays out everything that has been troubling his mind these days. "Mom, she is everything to me. When I told you that night that I was going to marry her. I meant that I want to 100% commit and share everything of myself with her. I mean it in the emotional and financial sense."

Fayza shakes her head as she faces Kylian. "I know you and my father have given everything for me, but I don't want to sign this and feel bad for not giving the trust of something I am most sure of in this world." Kylian directs his gaze to you. "I know that you and I are forever, okay? I know that. But, if something goes wrong, I want to make sure that you will have a life full of tranquility and without having to kill yourself for it."

After Kylian speaks all that has tormented him, you have your eyes watering and Fayza a little smile on her face.

"Fine by me." Fayza's reaction makes Kylian's eyes widen and you are surprised too. He thought it would be a little difficult to convince her. "I'm sure you two are forever, you're made for each other."

Kylian shakes his head positively and tries to hold back a smile, but turns to you and holds your hands. "Ky, are you sure?"

The uncertainty in your voice makes his heart hook. "That is the second most certain thing I am in life, my love."

"Second?" Confusion hits all sides of your mind and your face can't hide the expression. "What would be the first?"

"That I want to spend the rest of my life by your side."

#kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe fanfic #football one shot #football imagine #football x reader #football fanfic #kylian x reader #kylian imagines

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thewulf · 3 days

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I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide. Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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lets-try-some-writing · 19 days

Text

A Cycle Unending: Snippet #1

The Matrix must have something to fuel it as it empowers its bearer. A strong frame or a powerful spark.

Orion Pax had neither of these when he took it, and his life became limited. Thus, to ensure that the Autobots would not be destroyed in his absence, he created a means to continue on, if only in spirit.

(I be thinking up more angst. Don't judge me its almost finals I'm stressed.)

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[PRIME-0]

To take the Matrix was an honor. That was what the priests told him.

Orion believed them. Optimus did as well.

“You will not last long. Your frame was too weak to accept this burden.” Alpha Trion stood by his side, holding Optimus’s shaking servos. The Master Archivist was right. Looking at his frame it was clear he did not have much time left. The Matrix was sucking him dry, ripping away vitality and youth with a viciousness that was not intended.

The relic needed a strong frame or a strong spark to fuel it. Optimus had neither. When he took the relic, his body was beaten from the first fires of war and his spark was weary from so many sorrows. There was nothing for the Matrix to consume, and thus it was beginning to devour him. Optimus could tell it did not want to, the relic almost seemed to weep as it worked.

But there was always a cost for power. And this… This was the consequence of his decision to accept the gift Primus bestowed.

“How long do you believe I have?” Optimus’s voice rumbled, deep, gruff, and worn. Over the course of a mere few stellar cycles, he had aged exponentially. Taking the Matrix left him spry and willing to take on the world at first. But with time, that strength faded into cold and uncaring wisdom that spoke of a grim truth.

He was going to die soon.

“A few stellar cycles at most. Your frame was only strong enough to withstand it for a vorn, and half that time has already passed.” Optimus bit his lower derma, anger and anguish building up in his vocalizer in a pained cry he refused to voice. The Matrix was too much, too powerful for his spark and frame to handle. It would bleed him until he had nothing to give and his people would have no one to lead them. Megatron would rule their world, and countless innocents would perish in his rage. It could not be allowed. Optimus could not leave his people so soon.

“I will not abandon my people. I will not leave them without a leader.” He spoke with conviction, his mind already running through any possibility that yet remained. He doubted he could preserve his life, but perhaps he could find a way to ensure his people endured.

“You won’t. There may yet be a way to ensure Cybertron always has a Prime to guard it.” Alpha Trion’s rumbling voice washed over him, soothing Optimus’s turbulent thoughts. If Alpha Trion believed there was a way, then Optimus was inclined to believe him. His master had not been wrong yet.

“What must I do to ensure this?” He could feel creases under his optics shift as he looked up at his mentor. He had not been marked by such things before. Age was catching up to him so quickly that he hardly had time to process it. There was not a single moment to waste.

“Come with me. We shall begin work immediately.” Alpha Trion pulled on his servos lightly, his field wide and almost desperate. Optimus vented deeply and nodded. Whatever was to come needed to be completed quickly. He could feel his strength fade with every passing cycle.

Time was not on his side.

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“You are sure this will work?” Optimus adjusted his glasses as he leaned on his cane. His vents came in tortured rasps, age having taken its toll. He could hardly see even with his glasses, but he still understood what he was looking at.

“Yes. The cycle has been completely automated. As long as those who come after you contribute what is required of them, there will always be one to carry the mantle.” Optimus nodded as he sensed Alpha Trion begin to shift away. A young life flared within his spark chamber, one he had been cultivating for the last few stellar cycles he had left. It had no other parent. The newspark was a piece of him and him alone.

For that reason, it would be weak. But because it was of him, it would be accepted by the relic he bore.

“Will they live longer than me?” He voiced his burning question, sorrow growing deep within him as he felt the newspark in his frame shift and flare. No one deserved this fate… but it was better that one line carry the burden rather than leave a whole world hanging by a thread, hoping one of their Primes would be worthy.

“No. Their frames will be stronger, but without an additional contribution of CNA, their sparks will not have the fortitude to withstand the Matrix for much longer than you.” A shaky vent escaped him as Optimus stepped forward and placed his servo on the glass of the tank in front of him. He hated that this was the fate he had condemned his line to. But who else would be able to shoulder the burden? Who else would have the knowledge and the wisdom to fight against Megatron effectively?

It had to be him. There was no other choice.

“Will they care for my loved ones as I do?” Worry grew within him as he thought about all those that he would be leaving behind. Elita-One, his dear Conjunx, would be without him soon enough. How long had it been since he’d seen her? He honestly couldn’t remember. Once he knew what the Matrix was doing to him, he pulled away from everyone. He didn’t want them to see him as he fell apart.

Ratchet, Jazz, Prowl, Ultra Magnus, Ironhide, Springer, Kup, Blaster… how many others would suffer in his absence? Would they even know he was gone when all was said and done?

Was it really worth it?

“They will be perfect copies in frame and memory, but every spark is unique, even ones split from a singular source.” Optimus sighed as he registered the answer given. There was no assurance that those who came after him would care for his loved ones as he did.

Yet another cost he had to pay for their people’s salvation.

“I understand.” His voice echoed in the cold underground lab. He dreaded the feeling of loneliness those who came after him would experience. Forged into such a clinical and lifeless place… it was horrific. Still, it was the only way to keep them safe until they could take up their inherited function.

Slag, he really was just as bad as the Council. Here he was, deciding the future of countless sparks, giving them a function they may or may not despise and predetermining their entire lives. How cruel he was…

“I’m so sorry. To all those who come after me, I pray that you may find it in your sparks to forgive me.” He leaned against the glass of the pod, tears gathering in his optics as he felt the newspark within him flutter in concern. It would not be long now. Soon, the cycle would begin.

He could only pray that it would have an end.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

[PRIME-1]

From the moment he opened his optics for the first time, Optimus saw the world differently.

He didn’t notice much at first. His inherited memory guided him into integrating into normal life perfectly. There was work to be done and he was young and excitable. He wanted nothing more than to live each cycle to the fullest and end the war as soon as possible. That was his design, and the memory left to him told him as such.

It felt so close to him. For in his optics, each cycle had the weight of an entire millennia. To his young mind, all he had to do was speak to Megatron and things would work themselves out. The original knew Megatron, and he was sure his inherited memory would afford him the diplomatic power he needed. He did not realize how different he was when he saw how deep the grudges between Cybertron’s citizens ran.

He learned he saw things differently when he looked at his fellows. They felt almost alien to him at times with how distant everything seemed for them. Ratchet would easily devote whole stellar cycles of his life to a single project or thought without hesitation simply because the time meant nothing to him. Jazz would wait in solitary positions or live undercover for vorns at a time when required, never flinching or hesitating. Optimus could hardly comprehend that level of dedication.

Blaster would put his very spark into communications and song, entire deca-cycles lost in a blur of rhythm and composition. Prowl would live and breathe his office and the work therein, never so much as stepping out unless summoned. Optimus did not doubt the officer would remain in his office for entire millennia if left to his own devices. Even Ultra Magnus’s actions left Optimus reeling. He could barely comprehend the level of dedication the commander put into filing and keeping things organized.

The things they saw as so minor, so very miniscule… Those things accounted for almost the entirety of Optimus’s lifespan. It was impossible for him to view the world as they did. Time was a precious thing for him, and every decision he made was all the greater because of it. He knew his time was limited, and so he did everything in his power to make the most of it. His fellows did not understand when he threw himself into battle to plead with Megatron, using the memories he was gifted to speak reason. There was no way they could comprehend how much it hurt him when he failed to succeed in his mission.

All those around him operated on such grand scales. They couldn’t understand why Optimus tried to move so quickly, why he pushed for offensive strikes and peace talks one after another without end. They tried to tell him to stop, to bide his time.

He couldn’t afford to do that. Six stellar cycles was all it took for his youth to have run its course.

His limbs began to lose their strength, his enthusiasm dimmed and quieted. As age began to creep upon him, he looked upon his creased face and began to understand. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t angry. He was content in his life running its natural course. His fellows would be horrified if they aged so rapidly, but they saw the world in millennia. Optimus viewed it all in cycles, each just as important as the last.

His time for proactive action was over. His duty was to ensure that everything stayed in one piece until it was time for the next one to take his place. His life had not been without meaning. He had gathered knowledge, and with his knowledge, the one who came after him would know better than to waste his limited life trying to speak to Megatron the way Optimus had.

He knew when the time was right. The cycle he found himself unable to walk without pain, he smiled in contentment and bid his inner circle farewell. He walked the same path he followed when he was freshly forged. Now world weary and aged, he entered the place he was created and collected one of the many datapads lining the walls. It was empty. They all were. Each was to be a record, a comprehensive collection to be consulted when the memory of the dead was too great to bear.

He settled in the only chair in the clinical space and wrote of his experiences. It was pleasant, a final farewell in a sense. His life had been short, but it had not been without meaning. He was the first, it was to be expected that he would fail.

As he finished his writing and put the pad away, he vented deeply. Part of him wanted to be afraid as he stepped into the pod that had given him life. But as liquid rose and his consciousness faded, he found himself content.

The cycle would continue.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

[PRIME-5]

Optimus had known it was going to happen eventually. Those who came before him tended to spend their final cycles concerned, worried that this exact scene would play out for them or their successor. Up until his life, there had been no need to really think about it. All of the friends the original made became their friends as well. There was nothing strange. It simply was. Even the lingering fear of connections the original held becoming problematic wasn’t much of a concern since most were scattered across the planet.

But of course, being the fifth, it seemed he was the unlucky mech who needed to face the Conjunx of Orion Pax.

“You aren’t him.” Elita-One stared him down with a stoic expression. Her field was held close and her optics flared with grief. Optimus didn’t even bother to lie. The memory he held told him it was a waste of effort.

“I felt our bond shatter into a million pieces five vorns ago.” Her servos clenched into fists and her frame shook as she tried in vain to remain composed. Optimus held no affection for the femme before him, but the original had loved her dearly enough to send her away as he faded. Optimus would not dare disrespect ties made long before his forging.

“And yet here you are. A perfect copy.” Her voice dipped into a sob, anguish building in her field in stuttered bursts. She was hurting despite how long it had been since the original passed away. Optimus’s fellows really did see things so very differently. What was five generations old to Optimus was a fresh wound to the femme before him.

“Tell me. How are you here? How is it that you bear his name and his face?” Elita’s lower derma wobbled as she gazed up at him, hope and anguish mixed into something so powerful Optimus almost wanted to weep alongside her. What was he to say? What would ease her pain?

There wasn’t anything he could do. The original was long dead, and Optimus was one of many.

“The Matrix was too powerful for him to carry. It is too great for all of our number.” The femme paused, watching as Optimus knelt down lower, showing her his face. Her expression fell as she saw him, understanding beginning to dawn in her optics.

“Someone had to carry this burden. And so he and all those who have and will come after him are given this great mantle.” Elita touched his face, her digits running along the creases that were already forming. Optimus was six stellar cycles of age, and with his prime behind him, he was beginning to deteriorate.

“We do not live long, but I and those who come after me will do everything in our power to fill the void he left behind with the vorn we are afforded.” Tears fell from Elita’s optics. Optimus smiled gently. He felt nothing for this femme, he could not be the mech she wanted. But he could be a friend, a companion until his time came and his successor would have to take up the mantle.

“This was the choice he made. We are products of his love for you and all of Cybertron. And so, until this world no longer needs a Prime, we shall use what little time we have to make things better.” He brought Elita into a hug, memory guiding him as he did so. Elita enjoyed tender touch, even if it came from one who was not her Conjunx.

“I am sorry I cannot give you the love you have lost… But if you would let us, we would be your companion until this cycle ends.” Elita sobbed and Optimus rubbed soothing circles onto her back. She was not his Conjunx, but she was part of his duty.

“I will stay with you until my time comes. Then, those who come after me shall take my place.” He spoke softly, allowing Elita to cry. She wept bitterly, cursing and hissing at the original until she could give nothing more. Optimus held her through it, a soft song escaping his vocalizer.

His life had no success when it came to ending the war. But a wound was healed, and his interactions with Elita-One lived in his memory as a beacon of hope. Stellar cycles passed, and when the time came for him to traverse the long path back to his birthplace…

He did not walk alone.

“Thank you for everything.” His murmur was lost as he entered the pod, the newspark that would take his place fluttering in his chassis. The last face he saw was Elita-One’s, and he took pride in knowing that she was able to smile as the liquid of the pod engulfed him.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #elita one #alternate universe #lots of angst #clones #the matrix of leadership #orion pax #yeah this was a wild idea but I feel like sharing #lots more to write but for now enjoy

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thisisnotthenerd · 2 months

Text

Notes on the Bylaws of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

We've had some revelations in this episode, so I thought it might be a good time to go back to my Musings on the Greater Solisian School District.

Before this season, we had learned a few things about the Aguefort Adventuring Academy's Bylaws from Fantasy High, Fantasy High: Sophomore Year and the Seven that are ambiguously canon:

Adventuring Parties are established on the first day of freshman year so that the party can graduate together and begin working as an adventuring party. The party is expected to participate in activities together such that they might go forth and be violent lunatics enforcing their will upon the world.

There are a variety of reasons one might leave an adventuring party--the one that applied to the members of the Seven was severe injury, incapacitation, or capture to the point of losing more than a semester of school. By technicality, the Bad Kids circumvent this by virtue of going to jail as a group for ~2 months towards the end of their freshman year--not enough to cause them to repeat the semester or break the party.

The Crowning of a Prom King & Queen was prohibited due to the prophesized return of Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste, given that Kalvaxus was in fact working as the Vice Principal in the form of a dragonborn named Goldenhoard.

Arthur Aguefort keeps numerous magical artifacts in his office and in various locations around the school, this includes objects like Watches and Wards, an abjurative ward that can only be affected by Arthur Aguefort and the Elven Oracle [Adaine Abernant], the Crown of the Nightmare King, and the Bylaws of the Greater Solisian School District.

Presumably, beginning in sophomore year, an adventuring party attending the Aguefort Adventuring Academy must complete a quest that accounts for 60% of their grade for that year. It is unclear whether this rule is universal or whether it applies to specific parties who have direct involvement in larger quests, i.e. the Bad Kids tracking down the Crown of the Nightmare King, the Seven Maidens going to the Red Waste to eliminate the remainder of the Cult of Kalvaxus. This ties into a later application of the bylaws regarding the Last Stand Exam.

Parties can have members in different grades, however, graduation and further work can cause the disbandment of the party.

To acquire a GED diploma from the Solisian School District, an adventurer/adventuring party must get the signature of the Superintendent of Schools of the Solisian School District and complete a class A, B, or C quest [reference my previous meta for more discussion of this]

Now, at the halfway mark of Junior Year, we have some more bylaws and school rules to consider.

Administrative

In the absence of the Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy [Arthur Aguefort] the Vice Principal [Gilear Faeth] is the Acting Principal of the school and carries out all administrative decisions thereof.

In the absence of both the Principal [Arthur Aguefort] and the Vice Principal [Gilear Faeth], administration of the School falls to the Principal's appointed emergency staff: Principal [Interim Emergency Backup Principal Grix] and Vice Principal [Jace Stardiamond]

The bylaws of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy in particular are based on a combination of written and oral proclamations from Arthur Aguefort; thus some bylaws may be contradictory in their application, given the man's proclivity for bits and exaggerated speech.

The election of a student body president typically occurs around the end of a given school year, with students in their junior year competing to be president in their senior year. There is no indicated option for a vice presidential position, though there are other administrative positions such as treasurer.

Thus, when all options for administrative staff have been exhausted e.g. all appointed candidates have passed or are absent, the role of principal falls to the student body president, who presides over the Academy as a democratically-run educational institution.

Academic

Generally, students are expected to progress in the class in which they first joined the Adventuring Academy. While leveling can differ based on extracurricular achievement as well as background, the existing hypothesis places students in tier 2-3 starting in Junior Year*. Currently the Bad Kids are exceeding the hypothesized levels, but given their extracurricular achievements in adventuring, this is to be expected.

To Multi-class and effectively take both classes in which the student has interest, they are able to utilize the MCAT, upon given the consent of the class instructors for both courses. Reference previous meta for more information on the MCAT.

Measures of success in each class varies significantly; a wizard is not graded on the same curve as a sorcerer. One of the more extreme examples of this is the conditional pass of the rogue class; upon finding the rogue teacher, the student passes the year and no longer has to attend class.

Pass-Fail and Conditional Examinations

If a member of an adventuring party leaves for any given reason: irreconcilable differences, severe injury/incapacitation, capture or other forms of imprisonment, death, etc., the entire party is shifted to pass-fail for the entire year, and is thus prohibited from extracurricular activities.

If the faculty member/instructor of a particular class passes away during the school year, the entire class is shifted into pass-fail. This can have further effects on the adventuring parties of those students, since they are shifted into pass-fail along with their allies in the given class. The most recent example of this is the death of Yolanda Badgood and the shift of the Cleric class to pass-fail.

If a student, for whatever reason, has had difficulty throughout the year with academic success, especially due to systemic barriers, they may be eligible for a exam called the Last Stand, which is taken later in the year, and replaces the student's transcript. This exam can be taken as a party, or individually, depending on the students' needs.

*Tier 1 = Levels 1-5, Tier 2 = Levels 6-10, Tier 3 = Levels 11-15, Tier 4 = Levels 16-20

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 meta #musings on the solisian school district #dimension 20 speculation

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queerponcho · 3 months

Text

Transfixed | part 3

previous part | part 4

collage made by me with pictures from pinterest

moonknight!system x female!reader

a/n: AHHH- Thank you all so much for reblogging, liking and commenting on my past chapters!!! I just reached 50 reblogs and it honestly means the world that people are embracing a newbie like me (✿◠‿◠)

Warnings: no use of Y/N, fluff, NOT beta read, gushing about the moonboys, flustered awkward dorks, plot-twists, Jake being a menace, (eventual smut, the chapters will be marked individually), inaccurate depictions of DID, egyptian mythology and religion (although I did extensive research I took liberty in changing some things to adhere to my plot...), if I missed anything or made any spelling mistakes pls don't hesitate to tell me!

Summary: Steven and Marc have a little...carfuffle when Jake finally lets them front again, after days of taking over. The date plans are set and both parties eager to meet soon but are we surprised when things don't go as planned..?

2,200 words

Steven at home

‘I can’t believe this- how does this even happen Steven?’

‘Mate, I don't know! You were there weren’t you? You know how it happened…’

‘So you’re tellin’ me that any pretty girl can just sit there and you will literally tell them all about our personal business???'

‘How else was I supposed to find out about Jake huh?? Say that he’s my identical twin brother and then have to explain myself-'

‘Steven you would never have had to explain anything! Because this was supposed to be ONE conversation over a non-committal coffee- not a damn first date.’ Marc replies sternly. He looks at Steven in the glass of the fishtank and notices him looking deflated and guilty. Great- now he feels guilty for making Steven feel guilty. ‘I-I am sorry man, I shouldn't've gotten this mad, you know how I am about…personal stuff.’ Marc says sincerely. He really has been trying to be better at communicating, it’s been a feat to get here but he would do anything to make Steven's life easier. ‘It’s alright Marc..you’re right I should call off the date’ Steven says while looking at his hands, remembering your touch on his shoulder. The way you made him trust you so easily, even though he barely knew you. How desperately he wanted to get to know you an- ‘Steven, you know we share a brain right?’ Marc says trying to stop Steven from swooning any further. ‘Look- clearly you like her and she seems to like you as well, so who says this won’t turn out well?’ ‘well- you know: “we share a brain”’ Steven says, mocking Marc's previous comment. ‘Okay okay I get it- I messed up. I’m sorry. There, will you let me help you now?’ Marc looks at Steven expectantly.

Days passed since they had returned home after you left them in the cafe. Steven was pretty sure Jake had taken over after leaving the coffee-shop but he was finally fronting again after a few days. Steven squints his eyes at Marc but relents ‘alright fine, I don’t know what to text her…I think she might be waiting for me to initiate conversation…’ ‘You realise we wouldn't have this issue if I had fronted and you wouldn't have had the chance to fall in love like a desperate teen-boy’ ‘I thought you said you lay off with the mean comments! And i am NOT in love-’

‘yeahyeah, you’ve never had a girlfriend have you? You must be reeaaally nervous…’ he adds in a singsong voice. Marc won’t let up, he’s being dragged into this mess so he might as well have a bit of fun. ‘Okay now I know you’re just takin’ the piss- are you gonna help me or not?’ Steven says fully aware of his embarrassing situation. ‘Alright, you text and I tell ya how to start, alright?’

‘Oh bollocks- uum okok I-I can do this..’ Steven is fronting now sitting on the office-chair and stares at his phone screen, starting with a simple introduction.

steven is typing...

‘Hiya- it’s me Steven!’

He had written, deleted and rewritten the message about six times before finally sending it.

You answered very quickly, you’d been waiting for him to text since you got home a few days ago. Processing everything that happened between you and steven- and well, Jake.

‘hi:) glad to hear from you. I wanted to apologise for leaving so abruptly, but it was all a bit much to process and i was running super late for work haha…i hope you understand’

‘Of course luv. If you’ve got any questions you can always ask, I hope you know that.’

‘i do’

‘i was actually hoping to ask you some questions on that date you promised me;)’

You seemed a bit more forward over text and Steven did not mind it one bit, since it was just the push he needed.

‘Right! I thought we could meet friday? There's this great vegan restaurant, I'd love to take you there?’

‘sounds great! could you pass me the address of the place?’

‘No need luv- I’ll pick you up.’

‘oh!’

‘that works too’

You hadn’t realised the age gap until this moment. They were probably around 10 years older than you with you being in your mid-twenties. You did notice the wrinkles and silver strands when you first saw Jake but hadn’t really thought about the fact that he was about a decade older than you. Just now as he offered to pick you up did you realise the generational difference. You didn’t have an issue with it, you’ve always liked your partners to be a bit older so this definitely wasn’t a turnoff. If anything it only amplified your attraction.

‘I’d love your address’

‘Whenever you get the chance to send it:)’

‘right! sending it now…’

You send him your address.

‘Thanks luv. Alright, I’ll see you Friday at 7pm then?’

‘yes! see you tomorrow steven<3’

He sat back, setting his phone on the sink. ‘Alright there's your date’

‘Thanks for taking over, Marc- couldn’t have done it alone’

‘Relax Steven- this was just texting. But you realise I can’t just take over during the date, right?’

‘Of course I know that…doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stand by just in case…’

‘So- wait, what are we gonna do with Jake's notebook?’

‘I uuhm couldn't find anything besides drawings and sketches of her…I mean at least we had those, otherwise we would’ve never found out about him loaning that book.’

‘By the way…we know Jake likes her as well, by getting to know her better, we have a chance of actually luring Jake out-’

‘That might be true but that's not our goal! I- I actually like her…she might become my first proper girlfriend, I don't wanna mess this up.’ Steven is adamant on getting to know you, very hopeful of the connection he feels towards you. An almost magnetic pull he felt between you, one he has never felt with anyone before.

Marc chuckles at the reminder but reassures Steven, ‘And we won't, I promise, you will do fine Steven’

Friday

It’s 4 am. You’ve been trying to sleep for the past four hours but the thought of getting to see Steven and possibly Jake later today was not letting you relax. If anything it was causing a very persistent tension…in places you really dont wanna delve into. In fact, you’re trying really hard not to think about that tension, which might be the exact reason as to why you can’t seem to find your way to a peaceful slumber. You try to distract yourself by thinking of how this all even started. The way Jake intrigued you since the beginning and had you speechless every time he appeared. And you think about steven- steven who's the polar opposite to jake and is this shy sweetheart that can’t seem to even look you in the eyes but somehow managed to bluntly ask you out on a date. You keep thinking about them and their differences and analyse them, not noticing your eyes slowly shutting closed and your thoughts slowly forming into vivid dreams based on your memories with the boys…you sit up in your bed abruptly remembering your texts with steven. Realising you had shared your private address with a fucking stranger…you hold your head in your hands and push your palms into your eye-sockets trying to calm down. You don't actually know shit about these men…you really should’ve told your friends about them cuz literally no one knows about these encounters. But truly it was all so bizarre and absurd that you really didn’t want your friends to spoil it for you by using anything close to logic or realism. To maybe argue that they could have anything untoward in mind with you.

You lay back down and finally feel a wave of exhaustion hit you. You want to believe that they actually maybe even like you…of course there is a possibility that Steven only asked you out to find out more about Jake. oh and marc, was it? You wonder what he might be like and if he's anything like his alters. You turn from your clock having hit 5am and finally force yourself into sleep.

You wake up to your alarm blaring and prepare yourself for work. You start the day groggy and tired due to only sleeping four hours. But just the thought of your date tonight has you motivated enough to hurry up and catch the next bus.

Moonboys POV

Marc woke up around noonish since Steven took forever to finally fall asleep. Lately he’d been better but last night he was as jittery as a six year old the night before christmas. Currently standing in the kitchen brewing himself a cup of black coffee and prepping his mug with two brown sugars. ‘So loverboy, what are you planning for tonight?’ He says while wearing an amused smirk on his face.

‘Okay well first off, cool it with the nicknames yeah? And secondly you literally texted it for me yesterday. We are goin’ to my favourite restaurant.’ Steven replies proudly while also ashamed for not even having the balls to text you himself. ‘About that…I don’t think that place is open right now- in fact I think all the restaurants are closed today, no?’ Marc remarks and pours himself the long awaited bitter brew. ‘Wha-Whatareyousayin mate??’

‘Well’ He clears his throat ‘when I woke up I saw today's date and remembered that today is that weird holiday, the only thing open are convenience stores and the 24-hour Tesco’ he says, his voice laced in an amused tone and takes a slow sip of his sweetened coffee. ‘Bollocks- what am I gonna do?...I could cook?’ ‘Steven’ ‘No, I-i can't even make a- a salad! How the hell am i supposed to cook for her if I can't cook marc?!’ he says panicked ‘Steven’ marc sternly interrupts, carefully putting his half empty mug on the counter

‘I can help you. I may not be amazing at it but I can remember a few things from- from what our dad taught us.’ Marc and Steven rarely talked about their past but recently they were kinda forced to deal with it. Just the fact that they, let alone Marc, can mention anything from that time so casually is kind of a huge step for them.

Marc and Steven spend the rest of the day planning, buying and preparing the food for the date. The time comes when Steven has to take over the body to get ready to pick you up. He finds a shirt in the back of his closet- same oversized cut as his others but a bit less casual and more sleek looking than the usual shirts he wears. His hair is as unruly and fluffy as usual despite Marc insisting on sleeking it back. He convinces him to use some curling cream he had found in the back of the bathroom drawer.

Steven applies it sceptically, coming to the conclusion that it does look pretty good. He makes his way to your address making sure to ring on the right door. Basically buzzing from anxiety, Marc is doing everything to keep him calm and rehearse with him what he was gonna do and say when you ringed him in and opened your door, knowing full well, that all the preparation would fly out the window when he actually met you…Jake is silently watching this all transpire and cant help but be amused at all this, not admitting that he was actually a bit nervous himself.

You came back from work tired BUT extremely excited to get ready. You had to stay a bit longer than anticipated and thus only had about one hour to get ready. Hopping in the shower as quickly as possible you try to calm down under the warm streams of water hitting your body, melting all the tension out of your back, shoulders and sore legs. Work had been exhausting and this shower was proving to get difficult to leave. But the alarm you had set to remind yourself of the time, successfully cut your relaxation short. You quickly exited your shower wrapping your body in a fluffy white towel. Wiping the steamy mirror to see your reflection more clearly, you start getting ready. Adding whatever products you use to your hair and applying sweet smelling lotion to your body, basically doing any- and everything to make you feel as confident and ready as possible for your date, who was supposed to arrive iiiin…twenty minutes?!

You hurried your makeup routine and rushed to your room quickly picking out an outfit you felt sexy in but also had a grounding and comfy vibe. You threw on a beige knitted sweater, which had an oversized fit with a mini-jean skirt. Paired with sheer brown tights, thigh-high beige cashmere socks and brown leather knee-high, high-heeled boots. Finishing off the look with your favourite jewellery and accessories, you look over at the clock. It's 6.50pm and you are just adding the last finishing touches to your look and making sure you've moved all the important things from your ‘work-bag’ to your ‘going out purse’ when the door rings. ‘He's here’ you mutter to yourself, running to the door making sure it's him and pushing the button to the intercom. ‘Yes, hello?’

a/n: hope yall liked this chapterrr- in the next chapter you'll be able to read all about the date and i am SO excited for yall to read about it *squeals* don't mean to toot my own horn but GURL it's so good i already wanna post it ♪(´▽｀)

The lovely people in my taglist: @lilladyblink14 @lemongirl5910

please notify me if you want to be added/ removed from the Taglist<3

#ponchosworks<3 #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #transfixedseries

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quecksilvereyes · 3 months

Note

“You cannot live your life to please others. the choice must be yours.” Susan

Uh. So this prompt possessed me a little bit, I sure hope smoking isn't a trigger for you, anon.

____

Sometimes, in the summers, when the air is thick and heavy, dripping with unshed rain and pressing into the hollow of her clavicles, Susan Pevensie stands in her mother's garden, and bathes in the sun. She drapes her blouse, soaked with sweat, and her skirt, soaked with perfume, over the old rocking chair that has long since splintered under the weight of its age, and then:

A breath.

With closed eyes and soft mouth, rouge-dotted and lipstick-smeared, Susan Pevensie tilts her face towards the light. Her brassiere is damp with English rain that won't fall, her petticoats are stiff with English breeze that won't blow and her wrists are strung up by English strings that won't pull.

Blue skies are rare, here. England is grey, and England is cloudy, and England rains and rains and rains until it has made itself sick and its ground unsteady. Some weeks, the clouds hang low for so long that the sun cannot reach what it wishes to nourish. Some weeks, Susan sits by her window, her head pressed against the glass, and watches the clouds drip into fog, the fog drip into the earth, and the earth drown and cry. Until her skin matches the grey of the skies, until her mind drips from her every breath onto the paneled glass, until she can't see through the fog, anymore.

"Su", says her brother, then, his hands on her forehead, his mouth in her hair. "Susie." His hands, shaking and unsteady, are warm and getting warmer with every passed winter. His voice, soft and careful and stripped of teeth, drops steadily deeper. When he turns his head, the beginnings of a stubble scrape against her cheek.

"Light of my life, sun of my skies."

The skies are grey. The grass is grey. The fence is grey. The world is grey.

Peter's eyes are blue. The clouds don't gather around his pupils, and his irises are clear as they've been for days. The English sky has never echoed the yellow freckles.

The Narnian skies were ever centered around the pupil of her sun, in the soft yellow streaks of Peter's eyes.

Susan wets her lips. She doesn't wet her cheeks.

Peter climbs onto the bench. "My sister", he says softly. "Where have you gone?"

Susan buries her face in his chest and leaves behind great streaks of make-up on his bleached dress shirt: a mouth of lipstick, a blur of rouge, a dust of powder. Splotches of mascara, lines of kohl. Marks of eyeshadow.

Peter rubs her back, and Susan doesn't cry.

In the summers, she drinks the sun with greedy mouth and empty stomach and hungry, hungry skin. In the dripping air and the burning grass, Susan Pevensie strips to her undergarments - and breathes.

In, and out.

A breath, and then another.

Beyond her closed eyes, the world drips reds and oranges, and bright, stark yellows. Beyond her hollow mouth, the air coats her windpipe; a slow dripping of heat.

She is alone, here. She drops her ball-jointed limbs and her painted porcelain face, turns her opal glass palms right side up, and breathes.

Until her lungs settle, and the fog has run dry. Until the colours are a bit sharper, a bit brighter. A smear more familiar.

The party is slow. Nicotine gathers heavy on the ceiling, and the music is a little too loud to be ambient. The drinks are spiked, the hems are lifted, and Susan is standing by the door, watching her friend lose the last of her lipstick to a stranger's mouth.

The boy is. Well, he's fine. Polite and gentle, soft-spoken. He ducks his head and worries the tips of his fingers and the spread of his lips until they bleed. His hair would curl, if it was long enough, and when she blows smoke in his direction, he coughs.

Smiles.

Susan takes another drag of her cigarette. Flicks the ash to the floor. Smiles.

"You'll have to forgive the cigarette", she says around the smoke seeping from her mouth. "It calms me down."

The boy blinks at her, and wets his bottom lip. It is dark with blood, dotted purple where he has almost broken skin, swollen with the almost-injury. "I can't imagine anyone ever denies you much of anything", he says. "You're too pretty for that."

"Too pretty to be annoyed with?"

He shrugs. His shoulders are slumped forwards, and it makes his suit jacket sit oddly on the rounded curve of his back. "People love pretty things. Better to keep them around."

Her cigarette is stained with her lipstick, and the tips of her fingers drip with it. The smoke in her lungs is warm, and the alcohol in her blood is warmer, still, so Susan tilts her head. "When I was a little girl, my mother bought me a little lace collar. I wore it until it broke, and begged her to fix it when it had long become too threadbare to even be touched."

The boy nods, and takes a breath.

Susan clicks her tongue. "I'd gotten beet juice on it, and it wouldn't come out in the wash. No matter the soap, no matter the scrub. There was a small pink stain near the lapel, and it simply bled in all directions. So my mother soaked it in bleach."

The boy cannot pull his shoulders forwards any further. He cannot bend his back more. He digs his teeth into the purple marks on his lips.

"The bleach dissolved most of it. The lace was too delicate." Susan throws the cigarette stub on the floor and savours the last breath of it, the hot coating of her tongue. "If she hadn't tried to get the stain out, it wouldn't have broken."

The boy's teeth break his skin. The blood pools, dark and shy, around the enamel and into the corners of his mouth. "You couldn't have worn the stained collar", he says, with his soft voice and his soft eyes, his soft, soft hair.

"Why not?"

"Well", says the boy. His shirt is starched and bleached. There is a wrinkle ironed firmly into the placket. He coughs again. "It was already ruined before your mother bleached it. It was stained."

Susan crushes the stub underneath her shoe. The music covers the sound of the grinding and the soft hiss of the dying embers. "It was mine, and I loved it", she says. "Was it my mother's call to make what I could bear?"

The boy shrugs. "It's a lace collar. There are others."

Susan hums. "Perhaps. But I wanted this one." Across the room, someone spills red wine over someone else's lap. Someone else holds their cigarette too close to their lover's sleeve. "You shouldn't live your life to please others. You mind the smoke, and you mind the talking. And yet-"

The boy laughs. The corners of his eyes wrinkle, the apples of his cheeks flush dark, and the blood on his lips spreads slow across his teeth.

"And yet", he says, "here I am."

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #tcon #susan pevensie #peter pevensie #tcon fanfic #tcon fanfiction #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #seasonal depression #smoking #susan flirting at a party #susan having a panic attack about english weather #she contains multitudes #the problem of susan #sort of #larissa makes things

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morallyinept · 3 months

Text

A full transcribe of OBERYN MARTELL'S dialogue/lines from the TV show GAME OF THRONES.

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE: (ALL EPISODES - OBERYN WAS IN 7 EPISODES IN SEASON 4)

EP 1 S4 TWO SWORDS

Look at this one. How lovely is she?

They like them pale in the capital. Shows they don’t work the fields.

Do I frighten you?

You like?

You’re a bit of mischief, aren’t you? I think she likes you.

You’re not timid, are you?

Do you like women?

The two girls can leave. You stay.

Everyone who works for Littlefinger is on offer. Take off your clothes. We’ll be here a while.

I’m a prince, boy. Have you ever been with a prince?

Take off your clothes.

My way.

__________________

Forgive me for staring, I… I don’t see many Lannisters where I’m from.

We don’t like the smell.

Hm! You know why all the world hates a Lannister? You think your gold and your lions and your gold lions make you better than everyone. Can I tell you a secret? You’re not a golden lion. You’re just a pink little man who’s far too slow on the draw.

Long sword is a bad option in close quarters. When I pull my blade your friend starts bleeding quite a lot, I’m afraid. So many veins in the wrist. He’ll live if you get him help straight away. So… decisions.

Apologies, my love.

Ellaria Sand, my paramour. The King’s own Uncle Imp. Tyrion, son of Tywin Lannister.

And what are you? His hired killer?

How did that come to pass?

We’ll need a few more girls, yes?

You don’t partake?

__________________

Seems I visited the Lannister brothel by mistake.

Even Dornishmen.

Let us speak truth here. Joffrey is insulted. I am only the second son after all.

I was invited to the royal wedding.

The last time I was in the capital was many years ago. Another wedding. My sister, Elia and Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon. My sister loved him. She bore his children. Spoiled them, rocked them, fed them at her own breast. Elia wouldn’t let the wet nurse touch them. And beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen… left her for another woman. That started a war and the war ended right here… when your father’s army took the city.

They butchered those children. My nephew and niece. Carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And my sister. You know what they did to her? I’m asking you a question.

Hm! So have I. The one I keep hearing is that Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, raped Elia and split her in half with his great sword.

If The Mountain killed my sister, your father gave the order. Tell your father I’m here. And tell him the Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.

__________________

EP 2 S4 THE LION AND THE ROSE

Hello.

Not you.

__________________

Your Grace, Lord Tywin.

I don’t believe you have met Ellaria. This is the Lord Hand, Tywin Lannister and Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent. I suppose it is former Queen Regent now. Lord Hand and Lady Cersei, Ellaria Sand.

Bastards are born of passion, aren’t they? We don’t despise them in Dorne.

I expect it is a relief, Lady Cersei, giving up your regal responsibilities. Wearing the crown for so many years must have left your neck a bit crooked.

They call it the rich man’s disease. A wonder you don’t have it.

People everywhere have their differences. In some places the highborn frown upon those of low birth. In other places, the rape and murder of women and children is considered distasteful. What a fortunate thing for you, former Queen Regent, that your daughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place.

__________________

EP 3 S4 BREAKER OF CHAINS

You’re greedy.

You’re calling my beauty an acquired taste?

Your loss.

Does that surprise you?

Then everyone is missing half the world’s pleasure. The Gods made that and it delights me. The Gods made this and it delights me. When it comes to war, I fight for Dorne. When it comes to love, I don’t choose sides.

What are you, 25?

Someday, if you’re lucky, you will wake up and realise you are old. That pretty ass of yours will sag. Your belly will grow soft and your back will ache in the night and grey hairs will sprout from your ears. No-one will want you anymore. Make sure you’ve fucked your fill before that day.

They will all have to line up behind you.

Lord Tywin.

Would you like to sit?

Some wine?

I’m sorry about your grandson.

I don’t believe that a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.

Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?

Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant. The king was poisoned.

I did. This is why I know.

Rather suspicious. Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?

You think we conspired together?

The death of my sister.

She was raped and murdered by The Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.

You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.

So you deny involvement in Elia’s murder?

I would like to speak with The Mountain.

He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.

But you want something in return.

Why?

Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son’s trial isn’t quite as tempting.

I never realised you had such respect for Drone, Lord Tywin.

You’re saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.

__________________

EP 5 S4 FIRST OF HIS NAME

Your Grace.

A poem, actually.

I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort.

Not a very good one.

For one of my daughters.

Eight.

The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia.

Yes. But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry.

Which joke is that?

We can avenge them.

You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?

We will have a trial and we will learn the truth.

The last time I saw her she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun.

You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.

Anything at all.

I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her.

__________________

EP 6 S4 THE LAWS AND GODS OF MEN

These meetings aren’t always going to be this early, are they? I was up late last night. So, does this mean I am a master of something now? Coins, ships?

Lord Varys is right. I have been to Essos and seen the Unsullied first-hand. They are very impressive on the battlefield. Less so in the bedroom.

__________________

Lord Varys.

And yet everyone does.

Five years.

‘Tis a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don’t want to be most of us.

You are from Essos. Where? Lys? I have an ear for accents.

I have an ear for that as well.

How did you get here?

One you don’t like telling people.

My paramour Ellaria, she would find you very interesting. You should come to the brothel and meet her. We brought our own wine, not the swill they serve here. We have some lovely boys on retainer, but… You did like boys before?

Really. Girls? Hmm. I hope you won’t be offended when I say I never would have guessed.

What then?

Everybody is interested in something.

Such as?

__________________

I think you have made your point, Grand Maester. You have a lot of poison in your store.

Tyrion said “and you know the debt is paid.” What debt?

__________________

How could you possibly know all this? Why would he reveal such plans to his wife’s maid?

And did you?

Fuck him like it was his last night in this world?

__________________

EP 7 S4 MOCKINGBIRD

I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day.

Your sister.

Cersei approached me. We spoke a great deal about her daughter. How worried your sister is about her. She was trying very hard to pretend she had not come to sway me against you. I think she may have even believed it herself.

It was difficult for her to hide her true intentions. It is rare to meet a Lannister who shares my enthusiasm for dead Lannisters. She desperately wants to see you killed.

Yes, I know. We met, you and I. Many years ago.

Unlikely. You had just been born. Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock. My first time away from Dorne. I didn’t like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather, not your accents. Nothing. But the biggest disappointment… you.

The whole way from Dorne, all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy.

When we met your sister, she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say “soon.” Then, she and your brother took us to your nursery and… she unveiled the freak. Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small, but no claw. No red eye. No tail between your legs. Just a tiny, pink cock. We didn't try to hide our disappointment. “That’s not a monster,” I told Cersei. “That’s just a baby.” And she said, “he killed my mother.” And she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off, until your brother made her stop. “It doesn’t matter,” she told us. “Everyone says he will die soon. I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.”

And what about what I want? Justice, for my sister and her children.

I disagree. I’ve come to the perfect place. I want to bring those who have wronged me to justice. And all those who have wronged me are right here. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister’s children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her, too.

I will be your champion.

__________________

EP 8 S4 THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VIPER

I like to move around.

You learn this during your years in the fighting pits? I always drink before a fight.

Today is not the day I die.

I’m going to kill that.

Size does not matter when you’re flat on your back.

Never.

__________________

Have they told you who I am?

I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.

I am going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.

Say it. You raped her. You murdered her!

You killed her children.

You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!

You raped her! You murdered her!

You killed her children!

Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no... You can't die yet. You haven’t confessed.

Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!

Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children! Say it! Say her name! Say it!

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

#pedro pascal #oberyn martell #pedro pascal characters #oberyn martell game of thrones #PPCU #game of thrones #oberyn martell dialogue

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malum-forev · 10 months

Note

"Who did this to you?" For the bingo plz & thank you!💕

Bby girl, ask and you shall receive! This is a Mafia!40's!Bucky x MobBossDaughter!Reader. Think the godfather style when you read this! I think this is one of my favorite things I've written, and I hope you like it too!

You were running, your heightened senses making everything around you feel like a series of photographs. Snapshots taken to reduce space in your mind after your fight or flight response.

You weren’t supposed to be here, if you’d only listened to your father’s overprotective words or at least listened to his nagging nanny- your father had scolded you many times telling you not to call Bucky that but whenever the two of you were behind closed doors he would laugh, calling you the funniest woman he'd ever met- you wouldn’t be in this position.

Your feet ached, blisters were sure to form, your heels were definitely not made for this kind of activity. You looked down at the shiny leather shoes, gromets now vacant where a bow used to be tied. It must have fallen off somewhere on the way, your fleeing movements loosening the knot.

You turned the corner and finally saw your house, the four-story Brownstone had only two lights turned on. You looked down at your broken watch, your first attempt to flee your “date” if you could even call him that, it marked ten past eleven and that was hours ago. It pained you to admit that Bucky was right, he’d warned you thousands of times that the Walker family was not to be trusted.

“Even though there is peace today, it doesn’t assure you it will be that way tomorrow.” Bucky had told you once after you’d said you were considering accepting a date from the family’s oldest son. “Remember your position in this family and in this world, then consider their true intentions.”

But you’d only rolled your eyes at his remarks. “I believe you are the one who should remember his position in this family and in this world.” You came closer to him, his towering height did not intimidate you. The two of you had virtually grown up together. He was ten years your senior, making everyone around you think you were as close as siblings but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. A brother should never think of his sister the way Bucky thought of you whenever he let his mind roam to that place he shouldn't. You smoothed the lapels on his three-piece dark wool suit, you flattened your palms on his firm chest and dragged them down slowly. He took in a sharp breath as your hands inched down below his belt and stopped parallel to where he desired you the most. Your fingers twitched as if they had a mind of their own, wanting to get closer to him, closer to the part of him that made him masculine.

You ripped your hands from his hips and took his right hand, you rested it on your palm and your other hand toyed with the signet ring on his pinky finger. The gold shone against his skin, your family’s crest forever imprinted on it. Your father’s wish to have had a male heir would linger as long as the ring lived. There was no amount of duties you could complete that would let your father pass his empire down to you. A stinging truth that made you curse having been born as a woman.

“Did you make a vow of chastity when my father picked you up from the streets?” Your voice was calm as you rubbed your finger on the gold ring. “Or is it just your terrible personality that forbids you from making a woman climax?”

Bucky chuckled, low and throaty. “The only vow I made your father, was to never fuck his darling little girl.”

“Hm.” Was the only thing you said, dropping his hand and leaving the room.

You climbed up the steps to your home almost having to drag your body, the exhaustion of sprinting what felt like hours catching up to you. You slowly turned your key, trying to make the smallest amount of noise and stepped inside. There was the faint sound of a record playing and light chatter coming from your father’s study. But as you were about to walk up the stairs to your bedroom and finally put an end to this abhorrent night, the door opened. In a panic, you quickly hid in the coat closet.

“That’s it for tonight, James.” You heard your father say. “I better get upstairs before I’m sent to the doghouse.”

“Good night, Sir.” Bucky responded.

You leaned back on the plush fur coats, trying to steady your breath. This was the first time you caught a glimpse of your garments. The silk dress you’d saved up over a month’s allowance for, was now gashed down the middle. You were lucky no one had seen you run around at this time of night, one bad move and you’d be revealed. Your chest was starting to purple, finger sized hues of blue and violet started to appear where John had tried to force you down. You wouldn’t be surprised if your aching neck was covered in these bruises.

Your shoes were filled with mud and scratches and your tights that once had a seam going up the back were ripped, holes everywhere. Your eyes started to burn as you remembered the crazed look in his eyes as he tried to rip your clothes off but you swallowed down your tears.

Once you made sure your father had retreated to his bedroom, you wrapped yourself in one of your mother’s fur coats and quietly left your hiding spot. But once again, as soon as you stepped foot on the staircase another creak came from the study. This time you weren’t quick enough.

“Is it past three am already? Done with a hard night’s work of terrorizing young children?” Your back was to Bucky but you were sure his face was adorned with a smug smile.

Your shoulders dropped with a sigh. “Not today, please.”

The first alarm rang when he heard your tone. His eyes trailed from the top of your head, noticing your usual pinned up hair was awry, to your muddy shoes. He heard his heartbeat in his ears as he zeroed on the small patch of skin being revealed from a hole in your tights. You had more than enough money to buy a pair each day of your life if you wished that so, why were you wearing a ripped pair?

“Turn around.” Bucky said quietly at first but as you stood glued to your spot he became more and more desperate, his voice becoming louder. “Turn around and look at me now!”

Bucky had no care for your parents sleeping two floors up. He just wanted you to turn around and tell him you had been carelessly running through a field or whatever you decided to do whenever you weren’t with him. He wished, even though it would fill his being with madness, that you would tell him some man had wooed you with enough love that you’d followed him to bed. Taking you for the night of your life. But as you slowly shifted and he looked at your reddening eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong. You kept your head low, something your usual gutsy nature would never allow.

Bucky took you into the study, the light illuminated the bruises that were peeking out of the fur collar.

“Take it off.” Bucky demanded with a gruff tone he’d never before used with you.

You shook your head, one single tear fell from your eye. “I can’t”

“Please, darling.” Bucky closed his eyes and steadied his breaths, trying to keep his anger at bay but it was proving to be impossible. Impossible because your courageous personality was something he loved and seeing you like this could only mean one thing, impossible because his blood boiled when you flinched as he raised his hand to caress your cheek.

With a gulp you let the coat drop to the floor, pooling around your feet.

Bucky gasped, his trembling hand traced from your jaw down the valley of your breasts. His touch ghosted the ripped fabric, slipping the scraps of what used to be the sleeves down your arms, making the dress join your discarded coat.

His jaw ticked as he took you in, your once smooth skin he’d so often wish he could kiss had been dishonored. Your body was a temple only few had the privilege to access and someone’s corrupted mind had tainted it. His fingers circled every single bruise on your body, counting thirty-five.

Bucky sat you down on your fathers couch and took your heels off, carefully checking for any sign of swelling or injury there.

“Who did this to you?” Bucky whispered, looking at you for the first time since he’d discovered you on the staircase.

“It was my fault, I should have listened-“

Bucky’s jaw twitched again. “Who did this to you?” He asked through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t answer him, the embarrassment and pain of the events becoming too much to bare. Your tears fell freely.

“I’m only going to ask you this one more time.” He raised his voice, frustratedly running a hand through his hair. “Who did this to you!”

“John- John Walker.” You whispered through sobs.

Bucky got up and paced the study, his fists curling and uncurling at his side.

“Bucky- don’t-“ you tried but he interrupted.

“Go to your room!” He barked, you’d never seen such fire in his eyes before. Bucky took off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, covering your body. He gently led you to the staircase, his hands were careful, like he was scared of hurting you.

“Where are you going?” You worried.

Bucky ran his hand over his face, he was trying to calm himself but all he could see was red.

“Go to your room.” He repeated, this time calmer, opening the front door. “And don’t come out until I knock on your door.”

He didn’t wait for your reply as he slammed the door shut.

At first, you paced your room and gnawed on your lower lip. Then you showered, trying to clear your mind but each time the soap disappeared and your bruises showed, you were reminded of what happened.

Around three hours later, there was a soft knock on your door.

You tugged your robe close to your body as you opened the door. Bucky had a gash on the bridge of his nose and a reddish mark on his jaw. You let him in, closing the door with your back.

As soon as he was inside your bedroom, Bucky dropped to his knees. “Please forgive me.”

Your eyes widened at the sight of the usual stoic man now crying. Your lips parted.

“Forgive me for not protecting you.” Bucky pleaded, opening your robe and placing a chaste kiss on each of your bruises trailing his lips from your ankles to your stomach.

“I sentenced John to thirty-five blows, one for each of the marks his vile hands created on your body.” His usual white shirt was stained with dark red marks, Bucky looked up at you his blue eyes clear. “Until my last breath, I will protect you. That is my vow to you.”

Bucky took your hand, his bloody knuckled hand placed a stained cloth bag in your palm. You gasped as you saw teeth inside of it.

“I have given your father two of his fingers to prove my commitment.” Bucky said before returning his journey up your body, trying to take your pain away. One kiss at a time.

Part 2

0-0

Pleaaaseee be sure to comment, like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Remember, one comment = one kiss on my forehead! <3

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour @hallecarey1 @send-me-styles @jessicaloons @shewhojumps @honeyglee @giftedyoungster3000 @likehonestlysametho @batmanbiersack02-blog @calwitch @im-a-marvel-ous-hoe @soldiersweiner @maggiejackson3 @chelseaslibrary @kittybeansbarnes @ryebr0d @leyannrae @jvanilly

*I have tagged those who commented and reblogged my last Mafia!Bucky story, I hope that's okay! If not, please message me so I can take your @ off the tagged list :)

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catofthecanals289 · 11 months

Text

all the lights

a maxiel drabble for my beloved @lilyrizzy Happy Birthday, the world is suhc a wonderful place simply for having you in it. I love you so much. (contains medical stuff and mpreg [sort of, it’s complicated])

The answer is no. It was ’no’ twenty minutes ago and it’s still a no now.

Daniel doesn’t want to leave. He is not going to leave, that’s what he told them when they asked for the first time, the second time, but the third –

“Sir,” the nurse or midwife or doctor, Daniel doesn’t know, doesn’t care says, having sat down on the chair next to him. “Surgery will take a bit longer still, you are not missing anything by going up to the unit. But you are missing something by stay here. Please, consider.”

What’s there to consider? Daniel doesn’t ask.

He presses his lips together, tilts his face away, fixing his eyes on a spot on the floor. His leg keeps bouncing, his hands clam and sweaty, grasping each other. His heart hasn’t stopped hammering against his ribs for hours. Not since he woke up to Max’s panicked voice, finding blood between his legs.

Days have passed since that moment, but according to the clock, it’s not even been two hours.

“Sir,” the woman says again, brows drawn together when Daniel glances at her.

“Max’s here. So I’m here,” he says tightly, voice feeling rough, unused.

Has he spoken since they took Max from him? Since they wheeled him into the operating room? Since he called Max’s name, desperate, and Max turned his head, skin pale, eyes wide. He’d opened his mouth but the door had shut before he could.

“And your daughters are upstairs,” the woman pushes.

Daniel –grimacing, eyes squeezed shut- nods. “Yeah, well.”

“They need you.”

“Right.”

He shakes his head, lips pinched together.

“They do.”

“For what?” he looks at her again and he can tell she’s taken aback by his cutting tone, but-

She puts her hand on his shoulder, a small, cautious smile on her lips, eyes almost pleading. “You’re their dad. They need you.”

“I’m- Right, yeah. No. I-” He shakes his head again, leg bouncing, heart racing. He can’t fucking look at her. She must think he’s a terrible person and maybe he is. Maybe he’s been a terrible person throughout this entire pregnancy but- “I need to be here. I need – Max.”

He gestures in the direction of the operating room.

They weren’t ready. This wasn’t supposed to happen. So soon. And not like this.

32 weeks, that was the goal. 32 weeks so the babies would be big enough to not- So they’d be stronger. Their lungs, and- And so much. Daniel listened to the doctors, he swears he’d listened, but- They have a calendar at home at the fridge and just the day before yesterday Daniel crossed off the 28 week mark. They only just-

Max had watched from the bed, directing Daniel, handing him the marker, hand on his bump and he’d told Daniel, when Daniel had counted the weeks that were left and only gotten paler, that everything would be okay. That he was excited to meet them. Their girls. And wasn’t Daniel?

But Daniel is a terrible fucking person and all he wanted, all he wants now, is for Max to be okay.

“We can make a new one,” he’d told Max when they first found out, terrified and confused beyond anything. “We just- Max. Max, c’mon. Please.”

He’d wanted an abortion. They’d told them it was safest. That Max- Max’s body wasn’t made for this. He had the parts, yes and none of them fucking knew until- But his body wasn’t fucking meant to do this. It was dangerous. He could die. None of the do doctors, none, none of the experts and specialist-

But Max had wanted to try, hadn’t wanted to make a new baby through surrogacy, or have one by adoption. He’d wanted this. Their miracle baby, growing inside his body against all odds and logic. And Daniel had nodded and said “okay,” and there were moments where he’d thought he could do this, could be a dad. But he was wrong. He was so fucking wrong. He can’t do any of this. There is still blood on his hands and if Max dies-

“Wouldn’t Max want you to at least go see them?” the woman asks voice even gentler now, and fuck, Daniel has to wipe at his eyes again. “When he gets out of surgery, he’ll want to hear how they are doing.”

“You can tell him,” Daniel croaks, tasting salt on his lips.

He doesn’t know shit anyway. Even if he went to see the girls, he- What does he know? Jack shit. He doesn’t- They don’t even have names yet. They couldn’t decide and now-

“He’ll want to hear it from you,” she insists, and she’s right, but-

“He might fucking die,” he says, trying and failing to smile. “He might not ever hear anything I tell him ever fucking again, so-”

“So all the more reason to,” she cuts him off. “Sir, there really is nothing you can do here right now. But you can do this.”

He can’t. He really, really can’t. Every step he takes makes him feel more sick. He’s lead through a corridor. A door, another door, another corridor. There are signs and numbers and he can’t read any of them, can’t look at the pictures on the walls a t the people they pass, not that there are many. It’s still- The sun hasn’t even risen yet, it’s not-

“Congratulations, c’mon in,” a woman, smaller than the one before says, kind smile on her lips, paired with her words it feels almost mocking though.

He stares at her and right, they are in front of a door, two names written on colorful cards.

Verstappen 1, Verstappen 2.

“What-” he says, gesturing to the cards.

“Oh, because there weren’t names yet. Or have you picked?” the woman says.

Her name tag ready Hailey, Daniel can’t remember if she told him or when he’s been handed over to her, his head is still spinning and he’s pretty sure he might throw up.

“We- No. We hadn’t- We thought we still had time, I-“

“That’s okay, don’t worry,” she says, offering another smile. “Lots of parents haven’t decided on names yet when it’s baby time. Even if it’s full term pregnancies. Just tell us when you know, yes? Now.” Her smile widens a little. “Would you like to meet your daughters?”

“Just- I need to go back downstairs?” he says, turning to look where- but he doesn’t know. Which direction was he- How is he going to get back? He doesn’t-

There’s the nurses’ station right there, eyes on him, whispers.

“Well, how about we just go in and I introduce you, yeah?” Hailey says, unperturbed. “Now, I need you to take off all jewellery on your arms and hands. Watches, bracelets, rings – that includes wedding rings. Then please wash your hands very thoroughly at the sink and then when your hands are dry disinfect them. This is very important you need to do that every time you come here. No exceptions. We also need to talk quietly. No loud noises in this room please.”

He nods.

She opens the door.

“So, the girls are doing well,” Hailey says, as they walk up to the first of the – the incubators. The lights are dim in the room, but there’s still some sort of blanket over it, but she removes it and then- “This is number 1. She and her sister both need some help breathing still, which is to be expected at 28 weeks. They are also very small for their gestational age, which we assume is due to the conditions, which- Well.”

She smiles, a little awkward now.

The conditions. She means Max’s womb. Max’s hormonal situation. The way the placenta attached, how it couldn’t- Max wasn’t made for this. Or not- Only sort of. Just- It wasn’t ideal. Not for Max or the babies. Just a fucking fuck up from nature and now Daniel is a father and so is Max but Max might die and there is a tiny little creature lying in a plastic box in front of him, stuff strapped to its little face, frail, twig like limbs tucked in close to its body, chest rising and falling so quickly, wires everywhere and-

“So she’s got 725 grams, and her sister is at 680 grams, which-”

“I don’t know what that means, I don’t-” He shakes his head, throat tight, stomach twisting.

She’s- His- Their girl. She’s- She’s so fucking small, he doesn’t-

“Oh, 25.57 ounces,” Hailey explains. “That’s her. And our little lady over there, she’s got 23.98.”

“That’s-”Again he shakes his head, having to turn around. “That’s too small. That’s not- No. That’s-”

“That is very small, yes,” Hailey allows. “But, sir. Right now they are doing well and we are monitoring them. “They get some help breathing, but thanks to the RDS prophylaxis your- The mo- Your partner received their lungs are doing pretty well. The girls are both breathing on their own. They received surfactant already. No brain bleeds so far, and-”

“Okay, yeah, I- I gotta go back downstairs,” Daniel cuts in. “I’ve got to- Max- My partner, he is still in surgery, so.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “Oh, sure, yes, but, if you- Well, it would be so incredibly beneficial for your babies to get skin to skin contact? It’s- We call it kangaroo care and-”

Daniel laughs, he can’t help it. It’s a shrill, crazy little sound and before Hailey can say anything there’s a cry.

A tiny, barely there, barely audible cry, coming from behind Daniel. Coming from - her.

She-

Daniel turns around and there she is, her little miniature face twisted into a grimace, little mouth quivering and the sound she makes- IT shatters his heart-

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, love,” he whispers quickly, desperately, hands flying, helpless in front of the plastic wall. “I’m- Shit. What- Just- Because I’m Australian, I was-”

He looks at Hailey, terrified. She needs to do something, she needs- His little girl is crying. She’s crying and she’s just so small.

“It’s okay, you just startled her,” Hailey says softly. “The loud noise. It’s okay. We’ll just- You know she is still adapting. She’s not- We always say they need a little bit, to truly arrive, you know? To the world? Everything is so much for them. The noise, the light, everything. So we try our best to shield them, but positive stimulation is just as important as shielding them from negative one. And part of that is skin to skin. It’s- She needs you, sir. They both do.”

She’s still crying. It’s a pitiful little sound, not like the baby cries Daniel remembers form Isaac or Izzy or Leo.

“But Max-”

“Labor and delivery will call us,” Hailey says. “They’ll inform us and we’ll inform you. I promise. Now, please. It’s really, really so important for your babies. ”

She tells him to take off his shirt. She puts him in a chair that reminds Daniel of a sun lounger except he’s not getting a tan. His heart is beating out of his chest. He’s lying there shirtless and terrified and Hailey and another nurse who introduced herself as Abby hand him tubes and wires and then- then There’s first one baby on his chest and then another. Two tiny little creatures. They tell him to hold him. Put his hands on their backs as they sort out the wires and tubes and everything and his fucking- One of his finger is bigger and longer than each of their legs and their hands-

“Are they- Is this-” This can’t be right. This can’t be- They are too small for him to hold, to lie on his chest and be covered by towels. They fucking- There’s a heating lamp, they need- “Shouldn’t they go back in the boxes?”

„The incubators?“ Abby asks, frowning. “Oh, no, not his is best for them. Skin to skin. With mom. Or dad. It’s the best for them really. Helps them stabilize their temperature and heartrate, breathing, everything.”

“Yeah, but-”

Daniel feels so helpless, useless. He’s just- He’s nothing, no one. He just- They don’t even know him. They grew inside Max, they know him, his heartbeat, his voice, Daniel just-

“They know your voice too,” Hailey says, almost like she’s read his mind. “So you can talk to them quietly. Sooth them if they need it.”

But they don’t. They are both quiet now. Both just there where the nurses put them on Daniel’s chest, bellies down, heads tilted towards each other, little hands on Daniel’s skin, it’s- It might be the most surreal thing Daniel has ever experienced. Three hours ago it was just him and Max in bed together and now he’s alone in a hospital room with their daughters and Max-

“Can you call?” he asks, keeping his voice low, despite its tremble. “Down to- Ask how he’s doing? Max? He-”

“Of course.”

Two hours pass before the door opens again and it’s not just Hailey or Abby, but both of them as well as two other people in scrubs and a bed. A bed with Max inside and a number of things attached. IV pumps and stuff, Daniel thinks, but he has no eyes for any of that. Just Max. Max who seems to barely be able to tilt his head, looking around, looking for-

“Max,” Daniel croaks and on his chest one of the babies splays her fingers, almost making him choke up again. “Maxy, hey. Hi. How-”

“I’m okay,” Max croaks, voice hoarse and barely there, probably because of the tube they had shoved down his throat for surgery.

“He lost a lot of blood,” someone Daniel doesn’t know says. “And we are admitting him to the ICU so this is just for ten minutes tops, I’m sorry, but-”

“Let’s just sort this,” Hailey cuts in, smile on her face.

There’s a flurry of motion then, pushing around of equipment, adjusting tubes, wires, everything and it seems like a whole lot of work but Daniel doesn’t care because by the end of it they have somehow managed to fit Max’s bed next to the chair Daniel is in, the tubes of baby 2 sort of half under Max’s pillow who looks even paler than before, exhausted and only half awake.

“Hi,” he says, and his hand-

“I can’t,” Daniel whispers. It kills him not to reach out, not to take Max’s hand, but. “I got-”

“Oh,” May blinks and then Abby leans over pulling back the towels a bit so Max can see the girls. “They are so little.”

“Yeah.” Daniel nods, but he manages half a smile, tears gathering in his eyes again. “They are. and they’d really like names, I think. And meet their papa.”

“Oh,” Max says again. “Hi, babies. It is your papa.”

#maxiel fic #maxiel writing #i wrote this for my bestie #but yall can read it too if you want #some of you may know i have complicated thoughts on mpreg #this is how it works for me #and do not come for me becaus ehte nurse says upstairs and rules may dictate the NICU and labor and deliver yneed ot be on the same level #shhh #it sounded better in the dialogue

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romanoffsbish · 2 years

Text

Unwelcome Surprise…

Natasha Romanoff x FemHill!Reader

Carol Danvers x Maria Hill

Lessons Learned (Part 2)

Natasha’s an idiot, Tony’s an even bigger one, and Y/N’s an emotional wreck who needs a little help from her friends.

SMUT | 18+ | MINORS DNI ‼️

Angsty as fuck!!! Gaslighting... Abandonment.

18+ !! Heavy Smut!!

"Hate" fuck!!!, Oral/Face riding(Reader), Degrading commentary, Fingering(Both), Breast/Thigh fixation/marking(!!)

Tony Stark, total genius to the world, but ever the idiot to anyone who actually knows him. He's never been one for minding his own business, so when he stumbled upon a random woman who shared a namesake with his teammate he sent her an invite to a Stark party.

"Y/N Romanoff... Let's see if you're as hot as your potential relative..." The billionaire murmurs to himself while he tinkers with his damaged suit, and instructs Friday to send the invitations to the 'Post Deadly Mission Party'.

———

—

You stepped out to collect the mail while your three year old incessantly babbled your ear off, mussing your hair up with his animated hands, as he sat comfortably upon your hip.

"Is that right?" You gasp enthusiastically in an effort to encourage him as you stand on your porch steps and sort through your mail.

Laura stepped outside to wave your way, but you were busy glaring at the envelope in your hand, and then your son stilled in your arms once he saw Nate.

"Mama!!! 'Loot!!" Mason squealed, and you swiftly let his squirming form down once you spotted his built in bestfriend eagerly waiting for him.

"Any word from Nat yet?" Laura questions you with a sympathetic look and you shrug, passing an envelope her way then proceeded to sort through the rest of the mail.

"If she thinks inviting me to a party with her team is going to make me forgive her after three months of silence then she's surely mistaken... Here I am, worried sick about her, and she's apparently living it up with her pals."

"I thought she wanted to keep you all a secret?" Laura—ever the skeptic, states with a perplexed expression.

"Yeah, she's clearly just all over the place Laur'... Leaving me all alone for months at a time, then making me feel like I'm the one in the wrong when I ask for just the slightest bit more of her time. Then Lily hears us arguing, and winds up resenting me come morning when Nat's gone off on a mission to escape me. It's just, I don't think she even wants me anymore."

"Y/N/N, she's never exactly been good at expressing herself, but anyone with eyes could see how much she loves you..."

"Yeah, that's still not an excuse for treating me like I'm easily expendable. This just wasn't where I saw myself, you know? Tucked away on a farm, raising our kids while she runs away from me any chance she gets. I dreamed of traveling the world, broadening my horizons and experiencing the world in all its glory. Then I gave all of that up for this shared dream of having a family together, but she's not living up to her end, and it's turned into a nightmare.”

"Do you ever tell her any of this?"

"All the time..." You sigh out, running your hands through your hair to try to air out your sweaty scalp.

"She either tries to screw me into silence, or gaslights me into feeling bad for making her feel 'guilty' for keeping our world safe."

Laura's face reddens at your candid statement, and you sheepishly smile her way, then the two of you just laugh it off.

"Y/N, just go to the party, try to fix this, because I can't keep watching you mope around anymore. Take the extended olive branch, and if she doesn't work with you, wack her over the head with it." She muses, then you chuckle at her attempt to cheer you up.

"What about Lily and Mason?"

"Sounds like it's time for a sleepover." She shouts in mock excitement and you playfully roll your eyes before going to prepare over the night bags.

"Plus, I'm sure you'll get to see Maria, who I'm certain must miss you." She adds on, which is the icing on the cake because you missed your older sister beyond normalcy.

Lily was more than pleased to find out that she got to get away from you for a night, collecting her bag without so much as a goodbye. Mason was giddy as can be when you had told him that he got to sleep with Nate in his car bed. However, he cried and tried to chase your car down when he realized it meant you were going to be gone.

——

Natasha just got back from a grueling mission of her own, one that had spanned the length of three months. Deep undercover missions used to be her absolute favorite thing, but then you and the kids came along and now she detests them. In the moment accepting the mission felt right, after the horrible fight she had started got out of hand, she just needed to get out of the house. Watching the pain swirling around your eyes had hurt her immensely, and to know it was her doing nearly broke her completely.

—

As you settle into your hotel for the night you dump your bag onto the bed and curse your wife for the last minute invite. She couldn't just call you to invite you—no, she sends mail to your farm that only gets deliveries twice a week; the supposed extended olive branch seems more like a brittle twig at the moment.

You're currently staring at the clothes scattered across the bed, torn between wearing a skirt with a crop top, or the fancy dress you'd pointlessly purchased to wear for your tenth anniversary last month. No matter how much you two fight, she'd never missed any of your important milestones; this time around she did though, and she did it without even a text message thrown your way. Your 'Wish you were here, I love you Nat...' had gone unread and your heart nearly shattered when it did. Nerves start to overtake you as you second guess your decision to even go.

Why should it always be you making the effort to fix things?

Maybe this time you could leave her waiting on you, so she could know how it felt, but then you'd have to lie to Laura, and there's no getting away with that. So you scream into a pillow before settling on the dress then heading off to take a shower, hopeful it will calm your nerves.

While putting the deep forest green halter dress on you'd been admiring the way your body looked, having missed being able to have a reason to dress up. The sound of your phone pinging pulled you out of your feelings though. Opening the phone you saw it was a set of messages from Laura with attached images, your collective brood were lying under a pillow fort in the living room surrounded by snacks. Wide smiles upon their faces, then a simple:

*Get your assassin, and bring her home. 😉*

With an eye roll and quick reply sent you slipped your phone into your bag then set off to hail a cab so that you'd arrive fashionably late to the event. Stepping into the building had left your skin crawling at the sheer size of the guest list. Celebrities were scattered all around the room, but your eyes were too busy searching for your wife to even acknowledge them.

After what felt like years of searching you'd found her situated behind the bar, hand over her coworkers while she laughed at something she had said. Despair had been what hit you first, having always been worried you weren't enough for the assassin, even with the constant reassurances. Once your wife parted from her place you'd approached the bar and took the vacant stool next to the woman.

"Scotch on the rocks please."

The bartender that had just arrived nodded, then the blonde beside you turned to you with a curious gaze, subsequently opening her mouth and instantly falling into your trap.

"Rough day?"

"More like rough year." You bitterly chuckle out while taking a stiff drink from your glass, allowing the liquid to really burn.

"Care to elaborate?" She asks in a teasing tone, clearly looking for the gossip of the century.

"Nothing special really, just a smidge of trouble in paradise. You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not entirely sure why they even call it paradise. Marriage is more like when you get a new job, heart overflowing with hope, and you're thinking it's going to be all you dreamed of. Then a few months have gone by, and your boss grows horns as they usually do, and you find yourself in a new version of hell."

"Jesus..." She snorts, her calloused hands instinctually falling to your exposed back in an attempt to comfort you.

The gesture sends shivers down your spine, causing your heart to twinge with guilt, turning in a kind attempt to remove her touch from your skin.

"Enough about me, how about you tell me about you? I don't want to scare you off from love, I promise it's not all bad."

"Oh, my dear girl, I am but a hopeless sap, so you're not going to scare me off that easily. Actually I'd sat down here to collect a drink for my girlfriend and I before an angry woman with an uncanny resemblance to her had cut me in line."

"Carol?!" You gasp, and the women smirks at the way the realization washes over your face.

"Yeah, this isn't exactly how I thought we'd meet, regardless it's indeed lovely to meet you. I'm guessing Natasha's in the dog house then? I'd heard Maria ripping her a new one before she had took off on that undercover mission, but I've learned to not ask when it came to you."

"Yeah, she came home after months away to pick a fight, then took off on a mission with no word to me, which in turn caused her to miss our anniversary and son's third birthday. Then apparently she made it home intact, but chose to go partying."

"In her defense—not to say she deserves it, but she did only just land two hours ago, and before she could get her stuff out of lockup Stark swept her off in the direction of her room here telling her attendance was mandatory and that he had a surprise for her."

That couldn't be right, because if she was gone until today then who the fuck would've sent the invitation to you?

Carol saw the panic written all over your face, concern immediately consuming her as she saw you struggling to breathe, and she was quick to tap her necklace three times before she tried to figure out what was wrong with you.

Maria had been sat on a couch, scrolling through her old text messages from you, admiring the pictures of your kids while Natasha sat beside her with her head in her hands.

"'Ria, I can't be here any longer, you need to help me escape..."

"Tasha, you're a trained spy, and a level 8 S.H.I.E.L.D agent, if you wanted out you'd be gone. Stop pretending you're not terrified of my sister, because as someone who grew up with her I honestly think you should be."

"It's just, the mission was only supposed to be a month... I was so angry in the moment, but then I went and missed two major milestones. They're the one thing I ever did right, and now I might lose her and the family I'd dreamed of all because I never felt deserving of it."

"That's a shitty cop out Natasha, whether you felt worthy enough or not, you had time before you started a family with her. Y/N's dreams were always so vibrant growing up, through all the hell we'd been put through she had still remained so bright. Never once did she dream about motherhood, but once she met you her dreams evolved to fit yours, and all she wanted was to give you that family. You royally fucked up here, so be prepared for the consequences."

Natasha went to rebut, but she simply fell short in terms of a comeback, and then Maria was jumping to her feet with her fingers twiddling with her necklace.

"Carol needs me, I have to go."

"I'm coming too."

Maria said nothing in support of this, but she didn't stop her from following either.

—

Tony was bouncing on his feet like a petulant child on Christmas morning once Friday had informed him that you'd arrived. A nano tracker strategically placed onto your invitation so that he'd be able to track your arrival, and now he was about to put you into the direct spotlight.

Never once did it cross the playboy's mind that this could be a bad idea, because had you really just been a random civilian, well at least now you could say you met the Avengers, right?

Before Maria, and the sulking redhead trailing behind her could reach Carol to help with her unknown dilemma the lights in the room had shut off, then one singular ray illuminated the party stage and the drunken man stood on it.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and folks of all creeds, I'd like to thank you from the bottom of my reactor for making it out tonight. This is the first time in over three months that all us Avengers were able to be in the same room together, and I just think that's worth an elaborate celebration." He greets the crowd, receiving a gentle roar of cheers that he allowed to die down before continuing.

"Now, before I allow this kick-ass party to resume I'd like to make a special introduction. Agent Romanoff...."

He paused for dramatic effect, spotlight landing upon the former assassin, causing every hair on her body to stand at attention in nervous anticipation for what the idiot on the stage had planned for her.

"When I was tinkering around with my suit's, and running my weekly scan of all of our surnames through databases Friday stumbled upon something rather interesting..."

At the sound of his words both Natasha and Maria's heads turned to take in his smirking face, their expressions grim at the obvious thought.

"So, without further ado, I'd like to introduce you all to a Miss Y/N Romanoff! How about we see if there's any resemblance to our redhead." He excitedly slurs into the microphone.

Before you could even begin to register his words over your dwindling panic you were being blinded by a rather bright light. This attention only spurred on another roll of panic, causing you to literally vomit up the granola bar you'd munched on this morning all over the floor before your sisters girlfriend feet.

"Okay, so apparently she's not a fan of the spotlight... My apologies honey..."

Tony holds off from gulping in front of the crowd at the sight of the women glaring daggers through him, he's not entirely sure what he'd done yet, but he knew that his life was very much on the line because of it.

"LET'S PARTY!!!" He shrieks in an attempt to reroute everyone's focus, then does his best to fade into the crowd that began jumping along to the music once more.

Natasha made a beeline for the bar, where she was now scooping you up like she'd done all those years back on your wedding night and simply carried you off to the closest private space; while Maria and Carol went after the idiot that quite literally put a target on your back and your safety at risk.

—

Natasha sat your sobbing form down on the couch, painfully watching you curl in on yourself as she herself paced around the room.

"Baby, what are you doing here? We had—."

"Don't call me that.." You reply venomously.

"Baby please, I know I messed up, but please don't shut me out."

Her pathetic pleads are met with your incredulous laughter.

"Shut you out? That's fucking rich coming from you, miss vow of fucking silence."

"Moya lyubov', please hear me out..."

Far too exhausted to fight anymore you simply hummed a broken tune, urging her to go on, while hugging yourself for comfort.

"Fury had said it was only supposed to be a month, and then when it was underway I was too deep to pull out when it got extended out. The whole time I was away I'd spent reflecting on that pointless fight I started with you. I'm so incredibly sorry for how I've been acting, not a day went by that I didn't cry over being away from you all."

Her fingers were nervously fidgeting as she took in a sudden shaky breath before continuing on.

"When our anniversary had hit I was an inconsolable wreck, unable to even complete my tasks for that day. The same mess occurring of me last week when Liam's birthday passed and I couldn't celebrate with my beautiful family. Moya lyubov', I'm going to take time off, Fury's approved me for an entire year, and of course I'm taking it so that we can all travel the world together. It'll be perfect, a dream come true."

Once she finished her pathetic attempt at an apology you were feeling an entire slurry of emotions. Three months ago, and this would've worked on you, but now you'd decided that she needed the reality check of a century. So, even if all you wanted to do was throw yourself into her arms after all these months you had to refrain. Natasha stared at you expecting you to melt into her open arms, but judging by the look in your eyes she knew it wasn't going to go in the direction that she'd hoped.

"Sorry can't fix those nights that I spent alone without comforting arms to hold me while I instead cried myself to sleep." You lightly choke out, failing miserably at containing your sadness, but within a moments notice the same sadness fuels your anger as you get everything off your chest.

"Or will it save me from those nights where I felt worthless, like when I messaged you on our anniversary and received nothing... You never told me it was a no contact mission, hell you didn't even tell me what you were doing at all. For all I know you were out fucking other women."

"Hey! You will not insinuate that I am a cheater! I would never..." Natasha interrupts, heart absolutely ripped to shreds at the notion, but the brokenness behind your shielded gaze has her quieting down once more.

"Nor the irreparable damages those fights have caused to our daughters view of me. She adores the ground you walk on, and all she ever sees is me driving you away. So then I find myself overwhelmed with the toddler who has formed an unhealthy attachment to my hip and the hatred thrown at me on the daily by Lily."

Natasha blinks in quick succession as your angry words come flying out, fighting off an onslaught of tears as she hears how her piss poor abilities to process her anger have somehow transferred over to your daughter

"So, Natasha, while you were crying over your own regrettable choice to run, I was left crying myself to sleep every night over every single mess your decisions had left in their wake. "

"I'm so sorry, please, I'll do anything to fix us... Let's go home, I'll hold you close just like you deserve. I'll talk to Lily—I'll fix this mess, I promise we'll have our happily ever after..."

"This might come as a surprise to you Nat, but that's just not how this is going to go. So long are the days where I just bend to your will, and forgive you in favor of a days worth of your time. You should go home though, collect our kids from Laura, maybe even spend some one on one time with them because lord knows they sure do miss you."

"And what about you?" She questions incredulously over the lump in her throat, tears starting to fall as it finally dawns on her that this will be harder than she thought, the easiness of fixing things is a way of the past.

"I'm sorry, but that's just not your concern." Your flat response comes out, shocking the woman to her core.

"You're the love of my life, the mother of my children and still my fucking wife so it definitely is my concern."

The anger she'd tried to hold at bay in lieu of a civil conversation was quickly getting the better of her—as per the course, the simple thought of you leaving her has the woman full on spiraling. Never had she imagined a reality where you weren't by her side, little did she want to acknowledge that was already the life you'd obviously grown accustomed to, the life she'd been forcing you to live.

"I'm not sure how true any of that is anymore Natasha..."

Something snaps in the shell of a woman sat before you at the words you spit out in the heat of the moment. One second she's crying on the ottoman, the next she's grabbing your hips, slamming you into a wall, and kissing you as if her life depended on it—which for her, it does. This is always her final tactic, if her words fail her which is almost always the case, she uses her mouth in other ways to change your mind.

The anger that had been festering within you for the last year and a half outweighs the lust. Turned on by her actions though, you choose to finally give her a taste of her own medicine, using her body as she's done to you countless times. Using your hands to brutally grip at her waist you move to shove her onto the couch with no care whatsoever.

Natasha gasps at the action, but her mind is too far gone to notice the look in your eyes is beyond the lust of the situation, it's a mix of so much: lust, rage, a desperate need for revenge, all fueled by a deep seeded hurt...

Lips meet with just as much force, your tongue forcing its way into her mouth, exploring the nearly forgotten territory, pulling needy whines from the redhead as your hips roll against her own as you bite down then suck upon her tongue. Natasha's hands work quickly to bunch up your dress, moaning against your lips as soon as she feels your bare cunt, clearly she's trying her hardest to regain a semblance of control here. It's to no avail though as you pull back from her lips, dragging her bottom lip out as you do.

"Tell me Natty, did you miss me?"

"Yes detka, I missed you so much." She groans, frantic in the way she is bucking her hips up, hands on yours to move you in time with her, creating the much needed friction, and showing you just how desperate for you she truly is...

"How much?" You coax out of her, wanting to feel the desperation in your bones before you give in to her; your dainty fingers trailing the expanse of her exposed arms, leaving behind a scattering of goosebumps in their wake.

"So, so much detka, I was fucking miserable. Spent so many nights alone, working my fingers through my folds but it never worked because it wasn't you..." She admits in a frustrated set of whimpers, lips desperately moving against your collarbones as she works to bite her marks into your supple skin.

Bitterly you chuckle while pulling back from her hold, her eyes confused at your sudden change in demeanor, but before she can start to overthink you're using your hands to shove her onto her back, then traveling up her body to straddle her face with your gorgeous thighs.

Natasha's always been weak for your thighs, she could truly spend hours between them; biting into the plush skin while teasing you; tightly gripping them whenever she has to force them to stay open when you're too sensitive to do it on your own. Many nights she'd even fall asleep with her face smushed against one, so it comes as no surprise when she's eagerly wrapping her arms around them.

"Don't fucking touch..." You growl out, swatting her hands away before lowering your dripping cunt onto her awaiting mouth.

Hand tangled within her short red locks you use your firm grip to stabilize yourself so that you can fuck yourself by means of her face, bouncing vigorously with only your pleasure in mind as you work yourself up to your climax. Drenching her face in your slick, using your hold on her head to angle her face just right to receive pressure upon your sensitive bundle. Loud moans filling the tiny room as your wife's muffled groans cause pleasurable vibrations against your lower lips.

Pangs of arousal being sent to her very own core at the idea of being used by you, no more than a means for your impending climax. Although she'd wanted nothing more than to touch you—to please you, it'd be a lie to say Natasha's head wasn't absolutely spinning from your newfound display of dominance.

When your movements began to get sloppy Natasha ignored your earlier warnings, and you were too fucked out to care. Gripping onto your thighs tightly, she was somehow pulling you even further against her face and using her tongue the way she knew you preferred it. Pulling you to the edge in the way only she ever could; your loud mewls evidence of that, and the sole reason for her slick covered thighs.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck...."

Natasha moans against your already sensitive core once the pit in your abdomen finally bursts, your hips stuttering as your abundant release rolls down her tongue, coating her throat and the majority of her face.

With her tight grip on your thighs she's able to flip you onto your back, face still buried in between your legs as she continues to relish in all your cunt has to offer; the smell of you beyond intoxicating, the insatiable need to taste you, the way that you're pulsing around nothing, and on how she plans to change that.

Her lips move to place open mouthed kisses upon your thighs, glistening love bites being left as she follows them up with her tongue, soothing your skin while collecting your slick. As she moves up your body her fingers play around your entrance, lightly tracing over it before suddenly thrusting three fingers into you as her lips attach to your perky nipple.

Her harshly sucking, and occasionally biting down has you arching your back, forcing even more of your breast into her mouth, and she's definitely not complaining; she'll take every last piece of you there is to offer.

Therein lies the problem...

Nearly forgetting yourself you allow your wife to worship your body the way she's done so many times before. Desperation for release driving the both of you, neither of you having really been fucked like this in nearly a year, because the nonstop fighting had always thrown a wrench in your love making plans.

Once her lips travel up, eventually landing upon your own everything seemed to slow down. Reality severely misconstrued as she pours every last ounce of her love into you, soft lips move against yours tenderly, while her fingers perfectly move within you with similar care, gliding effortlessly over your wet walls.

This new softness to her movements spurs on a sudden influx of emotions, fresh, hot tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes as she begins to melt your anger back into its original source of sadness. Natasha feels the sudden way in which you gasp between the blending of your lips, pulling back she hovers over you, observing the sadness in your expression, and her heart clenches at the clear understanding that this is on her.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you like this..." She whispers, slender fingers still continuing their same brutal pace, palming over your clit as she leans forward to kiss your forehead.

"I'm here... I'm not going anywhere..." She whispers in promise, fingers curling in a come hither motion as she continues to pump into you in the hopes that she can bring you to the edge of bliss—to love you through this pain.

Her words have the opposite effect though, serving more so as the reminder that had she just stayed none of this would be happening. Neither of you would be working this hard to repair what was never meant to be broken.

"I love you..."

Those intimate words end up falling from her lips at the exact same moment that your entire body spasms from beneath her, your second orgasm far more intense than the last—hitting you like a ton of bricks; eyes rolling to the back of your head, while your walls clench so tightly that they hold the woman's fingers hostage.

After the high has run its course your arched body collapses against the couch, but Natasha's stilled fingers remain inside you as she places wet kisses to your heated skin, repeatedly whispering 'I love you' with each one she lays.

Eyes shooting open the moment you feel her tears fall onto your cheek, cascading across your skin on its way to blend in with your own. Her pained gaze is intense once your eyes lock, you almost feel sorry for her, but the settled rage slowly begins to simmer again.

Who does she think she is crying like this?

Is she seeking your sympathy for a problem she herself manifested?

Fucking pathetic...

"I love you too..."

As soon as the raspy words leave your mouth she's slamming her lips to your own, you lazily reciprocate the passionate kiss, planning to let it go on until you feel you have the strength to flip the positions.

Saying those words to her was hard, it's not because they weren't true—of course they were, but because giving her this sense of false hope isn't something you're exactly big on. Natasha's always struggled with processing her feelings, hell, it's why you're here to begin with. However, you're not doing this forgive and forget shit anymore, you're going to stick to the original plan and give her back what she's repeatedly given you—a false sense of security.

Wrapping your legs around her waist, you quickly shift and cause the both of you to tumble off the couch and onto the carpet. Natasha groans at the impact, but quickly smiles as she looks up to see you smirking.

"Yeah... I guess I deserved that..." She playfully grumbles before reaching up to pull your lips back to her own, and sighs at the way you move against her with less reservations than before.

For a brief moment you pretend like it's all okay, because for a second it kinda feels like it is. Your hands are quick to remove her dress, eyes widening as soon as you're blessed with the sight of her gorgeous, voluptuous breasts, perfectly ready to be marked up.

Natasha's breasts to you are the equivalent of your thighs to her, and the redhead is more than aware of this as she plans to tease you. Hands groping at the easily moldable skin, pressing them up and tracing her calloused fingers over her nipples in an enticing manner, drawing a needy whimper from her own lips, and driving you absolutely crazy.

"Hands off!" You warn, gripping her wrists to throw her arms to the side of her body before leaning down to harshly bite into the plush skin.

"Fuck..." She shrieks as the pain instantly sets in.

"That's the plan..." You cockily murmur over the pert nipple in your mouth, happily sucking upon it while your hand begins its descent.

Fingers lightly dancing across her smooth skin as they travel down her body, within a moments time she is squirming under your touch as you graze your fingers over her panty covered slit.

"Shit, you're fucking soaked through Natty..." You gasp, finding it rather shocking how aroused she actually is, a subtle hint to you that your lovers apparently been truly holding out on how rough she actually likes it.

While continuing to absolutely destroy her breasts, your fingers push her panties to the side, swiftly sliding into her with no resistance, stroking her walls as you slowly build her up. Natasha's chest heaves from beneath you as your lips work to leave no skin untouched, and skilled fingers continue their ministrations from down below. With every new bite to her skin you feel as her walls flutter around you.

"Just can't control yourself, mindless fucking whore that you are..."

You darkly laugh out over the extremely loud squelching noises that are coming from between your wife's widespread legs as she enthusiastically meets your thrusts, your fingers continuing to be sucked into her dripping cunt.

"You're just so fucking needy..."

"Mhm..." Natasha hums, far too lost in the pleasure of it all to realize what it is you're actually saying.

Her eyebrows furrow, mouth falling open as strangled moans leave her, it's apparent that she's nearing her climax by the way her walls continue to clench around your digits. Fingers scissoring from within, applying pleasurable pressure against her walls to finally push her over the edge, and for a fleeting moment you allow her to enjoy it. Thoroughly enjoying the way that your name repeatedly flies out of her mouth in between a choked melody of curses.

"...I can't fucking do this anymore..."

Finally, you whisper the words that have been painfully etched into your brain for months; the last thing she'd said to you before she left. Abruptly you pull your fingers out of her, leaving her high ruined, and her eyes snap open as the realization washes over her.

"Detka wait!" She whimpers, scrambling to her feet on shaky legs, attempting to reach you but you're somehow already halfway out the door.

Your mask nearly crumbles as you hear the desperation in her voice, and if you were to turn to face her you're certain you'll crumble.

Which is exactly why you keep your body turned away from her as you mutter out a cryptic little goodbye.

You'll break down when you get to Maria's...

"Laura's sort of expecting us in the morning, and when she asks why I'm not there please feel free to tell her that the supposed olive branch was nothing more than a rotting twig."

Natasha crumbles in on herself when the door slams shut, her foreseeable reality bleak, and the agony that she feels quickly consumes her. She really thought it was all going to be okay, she'd make love to you like no other time before, and take a step back from Avenging, but it appears she was too late. Her sobs only seeming to increase the more she thinks about what a life without you would look like.

After hours of unending sobbing she finally picks herself up off the ground, straightens herself out, then hops onto her motorbike for the long journey "home" without a single look back. Nothing more than the harsh winds there to dry her tears now...

Only one thought on her mind as she recklessly weaves through traffic; there's no such house that could ever be a home without you presently in it...

——————————————

5,925 Words

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domreader-headcannon-scenarios · 4 months

Note

Absolutely weeping over your whb gabriel headcanons 😭 Small and sensitive cocks my beloved. Because I am Mean, would you consider doing something with him and overstimulation? (Something something reader acting as though each orgasm he gives them is a sacred offering idk I haven't thought that part out)

I love the idea of overstimming him! Making the ‘feared angel’ whimper and cry while you tease his shaft into yet another release

Oh but praising him after each load, thanking him for giving into his urges and cuming for you🤍

Gabriel (overstim, small dick,)

You cooed and leaned over to kiss him, hand cleaning his shafts abruptly turning to rubbing the limp organ. He mewled in response.

(Due to tumblr marking me explicit and ghosting me, this will be posted on both my blogs!)

#dom reader #what in hell is bad #sub gabriel #gabriel #sub whb Gabriel #nsft #overstim #small dick humiliation

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middleearthsdreams · 4 months

Text

New World

Chapter 1

Author's notes: Hii, this is my first time posting something of mine here, I hope you'll enjoy. I usually write these for myself so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes or grammatical errors - english isn't my first language. I didn't proof read, I thought of just posting it and see how it goes.

(The reader has a little of self-insert, so she's going to be italian, nothing too evident)

Warnings: so far none.

Enjoy xoxo

chapter 2 / chapter 3

The last thing you remember, was the feeling of sinking. Like when you’re falling in a dream. Then nothing at all.

You gasp for air, hoisting yourself up with your arms. Your vision is blurred, the shapes around you look nothing like your room. The only think you can hear is the hard and fast beating of your heart. Your hands feel wet and cold, like you’ve been laying in the morning grass for a while. Now that you place your thoughts together, it’s not just your hands that feel cold, but your whole body is shivering from the cold. You start to panic. You can barely feel the sheer fabric of your shirt and sweats, as you move around looking for your glasses. You take a hold on them and wear them.

Yes, something is definitely wrong. You have just the feeling that you’re still dreaming. You focus on the tall trees surrounding you, and the dirt you’re touching with your hands. Your eyes can’t lie to you, you’re surely dreaming. Your comfy bed is gone, as is your warm room. You stand up with bare feet. Wiggling your toes to warm them up and to feel the damp forest floor, you look around. The lucid dream you’re in is set in a cold forest, apparently. The reason? Whatever it is your consciousness wants to tell you is very subtle, maybe it is to take a walk? Breathe clear air? You clean your hands form the dirt on your sides. Your grey shorts taking a brownish shade.

You start to wander the path, there’s marks on the ground, like a carriage has just passed by. You feel your mind on a cloud, still not knowing what is happening around you. But yet, you’re dreaming. It must be a pretty normal feeling. You’re surprised by your rational thoughts. You wonder why this forest feels familiar. But again, you dream familiar things all the time.

You whistle a melody while walking, looking around in search of odd things to encounter. Something must happen, for crying out loud. You’re constantly waiting for something to barge or stumble on your presence, but it doesn’t happen. As the minutes pass by you’re overcome by boredom, and immediately after that by fear. It’s irrational, pure and primal fear of the unknown. The trees look all the same and the Sun begins to shine brightly, letting you know that hours have passed by, and not just minutes. You run, pinch your arm, count your fingers. Nothing. You can feel the ache of your lungs from running, the pain in your arm as you pinch it, and again you counted 10 fingers. You huff and puff, leaning on your knees to steady your irregular breathing. Your back stiffens, a loud ‘crack’ coming from somewhere around you. You freeze and quit your loud noises, counting to ten before sprinting in a frantic run. You leap on logs and wet leaves, never stopping. You jump, looking behind for just a second. You heard something very close. You have just the time to look back ahead and discover where the noise actually came from. You bump, very harshly, on a strong person. Not just strong but also firm and hard, since it doesn’t even bulge. You fall – again. This time you know why, at least. And you know now more that before you’re not dreaming. Your head feels heavy, your limbs ache incredibly bad. A loud bark comes from the person you just run over.

“Seven Hells, watch out!”

It screams at you, adjusting its armoured shoulders. Your ears perk up, he sounds familiar. You can tell it’s a he, and he is also very tall. That half-burnt face, you could recognize it everywhere. You squint your eyes, hoping you are wrong. Despite your glasses, and your eyes being the useless muscles they were, you focus enough to trace the coarse face of the man standing in front of you. He looks you down, an angry expression buried in a frown. He’s like this all the time. But you discovered the true and most emotional parts of this giant man. During the show. Because that’s what it was, a show. The Game of Thrones was just a show, and the Hound isn’t standing in front of you. You feel yourself floating, out of this world. Your soul – figuratively – leaving your body. But what was this world if not dreams? It couldn’t be real.

You gasp for air, trying to feel the touch of your numb hands on the ground, but you couldn’t. Your breathing becomes frantic, you’re sure to be having a panic attack. You don’t look up anymore, trying not to focus on the man’s face. It couldn’t be more real. A real panic attack. You feel every little detail and at the same time you don’t. You can’t feel your body from the outside but only form the inside.

The tall man – the Hound – keeps looking at you from above, not really caring what is going on. “Yea, feel bad about it, I ain’t gonna apologize” he says, taking his gloves out. His voice is what makes you feel everything suddenly, all at once. He grounds you back to the moment. Your feet on the ground, hands gripping the dirt: you breathe again.

His eyes wander to your sitting form, wondering if you’re a threat or just some lost girl. While you start to wonder if you’re just batshit crazy. Holding your thoughts back, you stumble up on your feet. You eye the Hound carefully, making sure he’s really there. And if he’s there, you make sure he doesn’t make anything dangerous towards you. Now that you find yourself in front of him, you can see why people were so scared of him. It’s just his whole presence, that makes you shiver – and not in a good way. You carry yourself near him, not too close as not to worry him of harm. Not that you could harm him, in any way. Stranger is right beside him, loaded with weapons and some of his own stuff.

“I apologize Ser” You speak for the first time, not really sure if to bow or how to bow. You decide not to. Now that he’s assured you’re not mute, he looks away from you and grunts. He really just grunts. His horse could have given you a much better answer, you think. “Not a Ser” He just shrugs. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you decide to stay silent. You look around again, since you don’t really know what to do. The forest is quiet except for the birds and unknown sounds. You wonder if you find yourself in the north, but quickly discharge the idea. It would have been way colder if it was. You can stand on your bare feet and not freeze your toes off, so it’s definitely not it. You kick the ground lightly, wondering if you’re gonna be walking into the woods for much longer. You don’t have much knowledge about scouting and hunting, maybe finding a tavern would be the best choice. Of course, it would be, if you knew where to go.

“What were ye doing out in the forest?” His sudden question clears your thoughts, having grown accustomed of the quiet chatting inside your head. You turn your head to him, a question mark written across your face. You have no fucking clue, but here you are. Chatting with the Hound. From the Game Of Thrones. He steadies a bag on the horse, maybe done camping for a night. You wonder what season you found yourself into.

You answer, lying: “I was being chased by a boar”. That would explain your helpless running, obviously. However, since you couldn’t tell him the truth, you start to ponder which lies would have sounded more reasonable. Trying to test the waters, a joke escapes you: “didn’t want to end like King Robert, you know”. You giggle lightly, trying to break the ice. He just huffs but answers your silent question: “aye”. So, it’s past first season, good to know.

“Can I ask you a question?” You try but he stops you “You just did”. You roll your eyes at him, glad he doesn’t notice. “I heard about Stannis Baratheon marching upon Kingslanding, is it true?” You know you’re burning your cards but you don’t know how better to put it. His movements stop for a second, he looks ahead, but he wakes and close up the straps holding the bag quickly. He grunts again, so it’s a yes. ‘Oh’, you smile. He’s on the run, then.

You try to make it sound casual “I just heard about it, it’s crazy what the Imp has done with the wildfire”. He replies with a growl then walks with his steed alongside him, away from you. The ground opens up beneath your feet: what would you do if you were alone? You couldn’t be left alone: you would not survive one day. As you glare at his broad shoulders walking away, the lamp inside your head turns on.

You struggle to walk to him, what long strides he takes. “Wait!” You exclaim, almost running. He doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking. “Don’t leave me alone” You tell him, trying to make him feel something. You know how cautious he is, he is a loner and he has just escaped a city that wants his head on a pike. Despite all of this, he is one of the strongest men in all Westeros, he could keep you safe like no one else could. Whatever that escaping bullshit was, it had to wait. “I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how to live in a forest, I would die by tomorrow or worse” You complain. He just shrugs his shoulders and says “None of my business”. You should have figured he would be like this. But one tiny, little part of you wants to make him feel sorry for you. You’re the damsel in distress.

“At least can you give me a ride? You see, I ran so fast I lost my shoes” you say looking at your feet on the verge of bleeding. He stops himself – and the horse – to turn around and look you down. He bends, looking at your feet with disgust. His hard shell cracks the tiniest bit, because he sighs. “Whatever, where are ye off to?” He offers a hand to make you sit on the horse, but changes his mind: you are far too short. He opens his arms, holding your hips to help you up. His two hands almost engulf your whole waist, his touch making you blush. Here come the nice shivers. “For now, the next tavern, then I’m heading North”. You don’t know why, but you want to separate yourself from Kingslanding as quickly as possible. That damn city. You love the sea and all, but you would prefer to visit the western zones. The North would seem like a good option for now. You lighten up, your eyes glistening. You could try to save Robb, Cathleen and then try to meet all of your favourites. Maybe you could travel north and save Ed and Pip and – your heart races – Ingrid. You could still have time to help Tyrion with the whole trial, and meet Prince Oberyn, save him from the Mountain. There’s still time. You know all of it, the timing is perfect.

Your racing thoughts are pulled away by Sandor’s hand coming close to your leg, to take the reins. Eyes scan your body, you feel embarrassed by your sleeping attire, not very fit for the season. You try to cover your exposed thighs and belly. You went to sleep with some shorts and a small top, since it was summer. Now, you surely hadn’t planned to travel in a fantasy series, otherwise you would have worn much different clothing. Maybe a cute little outfit, you had just the perfect dress for the occasion which you bought for LARP. Sandor – what a sweet name to pronounce – clears his throat and points out “You’re going to freeze your ass off if you’re going North”. You shrug “I’m just going to buy new clothes along the way-” you slap yourself and think ‘yeah, with what money?’. You decide it’s a problem for future you, now you just want to enjoy your first horse ride and to chat a little bit more. Well, not that Sandor’s a chatty man, but you can talk and he can just listen. “Whatever” He just shrugs. You focus on him now, his unbruised half face directed towards you. Then it hits you. You feel like crying, chin trembling. You always forget he dies too, in the end. And you think it’s just unfair: for all the character development he will be going through, it’s just cruel how his story ends. He knows you’re looking at him, but he’s used to be stared at. He thinks it’s his scar that scares people away, that makes him ugly. But he doesn’t know that, in reality, you have a determined face right now. You’re not looking at him because he’s weird – he’s way too handsome in real life. You will save him, no matter the cost. You make it your mission; you will save Sandor Clegane.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself, I’m y/n” You offer him your hand, not receiving any response from him. He just keeps looking ahead, unbothered. You don’t give yourself up: “And you are…?”. You try to not show your real emotions, you’re not the best liar. He scoffs, glancing your way briefly “You know damn well who I am”. You insist “I may know your name, but not the man behind it”. He barks a real and sarcastic laugh – making you jump a little – eyes thin and wrinkled by the grimace “Good luck with that”. Being optimistic, you just nod and say “Challenge accepted”. The shadow of a smile still lingers on his lips, humoured by your attitude. You point your nose up, the rocking of the horse and the thumps of his feet the only sounds remaining.

“Yer not from around here” After some minutes he interrupts the silence, surprising you. You look at him questioning and he clears himself “Ye said your name but didn’t tell me where you come from, lassie”. You open your mouth promptly, but close it again. You surely can’t tell him where you come from, but can’t force yourself to lie enormously. You come up with the most accepting half truth you can muster: “You wouldn’t know, it’s an unknown land from the West”. He doesn’t seem too convinced by your lie, but says nothing. You let out a sigh of relief, then of pensiveness. You don’t mean to brag but you really miss your world: the comforts, the food, your family. You have no clue what is going on the other side. Maybe you’ll wake up in your bed once you’ll fall asleep tonight, maybe not. Does your family know you’re missing?

“But you know, sometimes I miss it, my small town. My mother makes the best pizza of all town, and I’m not saying this because she’s my mom; she taught me how to make it, maybe I can cook it for you one day. I’m gonna need…” You talk and talk, about anything that comes to your mind. You haven’t spoken to someone the whole day: he has the burden to bear with you for quite a while. He sighs, letting you talk.

Your continuous bragging about nothing and everything surely makes Sandor regret his decision. But he’s grown accustomed to boring conversations, so he dissociates from your nonsense. The only thing that intrigued him were the sudden unknown words you spoke – maybe another language. But after some time, he grew tired and began thinking to his own stuff. You know he’s not listening, so you pretend to talk to Stranger. He’s character too, you know. You caress the horse, receiving small sounds of appreciation form him. You tell Stranger all your favourite dishes and hobbies, letting the hours go by.

When the sky starts to turn pink and purple you have shut up for good, hours before. You find the quiet company of the Hound amusing, it’s kind of relaxing. Surely, you want to know many more things than you already know from the tv series. But you tell yourself ‘one thing at a time’.

You rub your cold thighs, shivering from the cold evening air. You haven’t encountered a tavern so far, nor a person passing by. It surely isn’t the King’s Road, otherwise it would be more ‘crowded’. You glance tiredly at the man at your right, his astonishing strength still making him walk. You look at him incredulous: “How are you not tired of walking?” you question him. He just shrugs “I’m used to it”. Your expression drops. You feel terrible for stealing his seat on Stranger, but you don’t know how long you would have gone without shoes. You miss the sensation of warmth that clothes provide, your limbs numb from the riding and cold.

“Can I walk again? I’m hurting my bum up here” You try, his head turning your way, glancing ever so slightly down where said butt sat. He shakes his head “We’re almost arrived”. You sigh, rocking your hips up, trying to relieve the ache between your legs. You’re not used to sit for so many hours. Least to ride a horse. But you’re glad, you thank him silently. You’re overcome by excitement once you hear the indistinct sounds of people talking and drinking, from afar. Finally, people!

Once you – three – arrive at the tavern, you realize you can’t just walk in, this bare you are. Sandor offers to walk inside first, trying to retrieve a dress or something. You thank him, he glances down at you and grunts “Stay hidden, these are not place for ladies to wonder alone naked” and with that he’s jogging inside. You shiver, unmounting Stranger to hide behind his giant form. Your legs wobble and tingle, you let out a moan of relief. You shake and jump on them, warming them up. Your feet are hopelessly cold, you can do nothing about them. You bend to massage your legs, leaning on Stranger to crack your back. The horse looks you weird, like you’ve grown two heads. As you are cracking on the left of your back you feel a presence behind you, its big shadow enveloping you. You’re scared for the first two seconds but take a relieving breath when you hear Sandor’s voice: “What are ye doing?”

“Why are you always bewildered when I do or say something?” You answer, turning back to face him. He’s so tall, you have to tilt your head back to look at him. You take a quick look at his black eyes, unreadable as a stone. He smirks and hands you some pieces of clothing “Cause you’re a funny woman”. His answer leaves you shocked – and amused. Then he turns around and commands: “Put them on”. It takes you some time to distinguish what clothes they are, but manage to put them on. It turns out it’s a long skirt and a bodice, of poor material. You accept kindly, finally covering your legs and arms. Lovely warmth! As you struggle to tie the top piece, you ask “Where did you find these?” referring to the clothes. You hear his shrug thanks to the armour he’s wearing. You decide not to inquire. You sigh loudly, hands behind your back trying to tie the laces but failing miserably. You cross your arms on your breasts and ask quietly “Can you help me?”. You blush, feeling like a child who cannot tie its shoelaces. You still have your back to him. You don’t see him but you can hear him turning towards you, the clanking of metal indicating he’s getting close. Gentle fingers caress your back to find the laces, then a firm pull brings you back. You yelp a little and plant your feet to the ground. He tightens the bodice and knots it. Your blush grows; you’re glad it’s dark so he can’t see it. As suddenly as his hands were on you, they left. He grunts and starts walking back to the tavern. You’re left to yourself for a short second, but you quickly quip behind him. The lingering of his touch burning your back with shivers. The only thing you can see are his broad shoulders, then he moves out of the way and you can finally see the inside of the tavern. It’s so warm and cheerful, you feel overcome by a sudden feeling of happiness. People laughing and drinking, women cheerfully dance to a bad melody. The smell of chicken pie and smoke soaking the environment. Fuck yeah.

You catch up with Sandor to a far table, isolated from the rest. You take a seat across him, excited as a baby to a birthday party. You almost jump from the happiness. Sandor watches you, scrutinizing your every move. He still hasn’t figured you out yet, and that makes him nervous. You’re a small woman, you should be scared of him. Instead, you follow him around and look into him so deeply; you watch him as if you trust him. He knows that, whatever you try to do to him, he’s one of the strongest men in Westeros and could snap you like a twig. So, what is it that makes him nervous? Your gaze rests on his eyes, two seconds too much maybe, and you blush bashfully. He raises a brow ‘what is wrong with this woman?’. Your eyes grow big and wet, your mind racing with thoughts and questions. He looks away, unable to maintain the eye contact. You lower your own gaze.

You get served pie and two pitchers of red wine. It’s not so good – the pie – but since you were starving, you devour it in less than two minutes. Then you gulp down a full goblet of the shitty wine, to ease the passing. All the while Sandor looks at you shocked – as far as his facial expression can go. He’s never seen a lady behave like that, but – after all – you didn’t eat a thing the whole day.

A sigh escapes your lips, two more pitchers have gone, equally divided between you and the giant in front of you. The meal went silently, making you grow bored. The alcohol in your stomach – gone to your head – makes you act frantically: you get up and walk towards the dancing women. The Hound doesn’t stop you, just glances towards you with half lidded eyes. You have always been the drunk dancer, so it’s natural for you to go up there and take some woman’s waist and twist her in your arms. The black-haired woman laughs and holds her hand up facing you. You meet her hand with hers and dance in a circle, leaving her to circle with another woman. You quickly catch up the lyrics of the song and sing along with the ones participating. You laugh and dance for a while, head turning and vision going blurry. Your dress moves swiftly, calluses forming under your bare feet. You can feel two holes burning on your back, so you turn around. You make eye contact with the Hound and wink his way, rosy cheeks and hips swaying. He sips from his goblet, eyes lingering down your body. You feel more naked now than when you were wearing your grey shorts. Stomach aching and legs feeling like jelly, you walk back to the table. You don’t know if your stomach stirs from his stare or from the good laugh you’re having. And your legs are trembling from all the dancing, right? No other reason.

“You’re so dark and broody, I wonder what goes into that pretty head of yours” You exclaim, sitting poorly on your chair. Your hands go to your stomach, as your feet cross over the table. You huff from the exhaustion, taking deep breaths with your eyes closed.

“Ye don’t want ta know” he slurs, gulping his last drink. Your eyes open, legs go back on the chair and hands under your chin, with your elbows on the table. You stare into the balls of his eyes, trying to read him. His whole demeanour changes, he grows stiff and cold. Alright, he doesn’t want to be read.

“And what if I do?” you play, testing the waters. He snaps, eyes go from warm and sultry to dark and frozen. “I don’t!” he half yells. You’re surprised but unfazed by his reaction, you know he’s cutting the edges of his walls to make them sharper. You don’t care, but don’t insist, holding your hands up in defeat.

“I get it, sorry” You apologize, the energy drained from your body. Your many drinks starting to show their effects, you lay your head on the table. You gaze up at him from down there and ask “Can we go to sleep?”. He’s still stoic and cold, but places two coins on the table, making it jump. You jump too, standing with him. His strides are longer but he’s going slow on purpose, to keep an eye on you. He nods towards a narrow hallway upstairs, leading you to a room.

As soon as you see a bed, you launch yourself on it. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s soft. And big. It’s a king-sized bed, but you don’t put much thought onto it. Sandor still stands at the feet of the bed; you look at him from behind your shoulder. “Come” You pat the other side of the bed, distancing yourself from the other end. “I won’t be too close, I swear” You plead him to stay. First of all, because you didn’t want to steal another comfort from him, today. Second, you are still a bit cold and the warmth of another body could help with that.

You can see the thoughts behind his eyes, wheels stirring and twisting. You thought he wouldn’t agree, but he sits on the edge of the bed. He starts taking his armour off, struggling to unclasp the straps in his drunken state. You crawl to his left, eyes asking silently ‘can I?’. You don’t touch him unless he asks you to, so when he growls, frustrated by his inability to do basic things, he nods. You help him get out of his heavy armour, eyes never meeting. You’re too embarrassed to look him in the face since he’s too close. His face inches from yours, you can smell the alcohol coming from his mouth. His eyes though, they don't leave you for one moment. Travelling down your face, then your exposed shoulders, the curve of your breasts, then to your hands. He burns with restraint: you surely wouldn't want to do anything with him. Yes, you're just using him for protection, he knows that. When you’re done, he hastily gets up and goes to lay on his side. How could someone ever want him. With these thoughts he closes his eyes. You blow out a candle, ‘patience’ you repeat to yourself. You fall asleep very quickly, your backs brushing lightly. Head empty.

#sandor x reader #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #reader insert #sandor / reader #fluff #eventual smut #strangers to lovers #game of thrones

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